


Venom

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Catch Me When I Fall [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Winchesters, Case Fic, Castiel Whump, Crowley Being an Asshole, Family Feels, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 05, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6177148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley gets in trouble when he's bitten by a venomous monster, and turns to the Winchesters for help finding an antidote. Yet what reason would they possibly have to save a demon? Oh, he'll think of a way to motivate them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the last backlog story I have to transfer over to Ao3. It's fourth in the character arc of my "Catch Me When I Fall" series, but plot-wise it's a direct sequel to the first story, "The Collector." As a refresher: Crowley moved into Magnus’s invisible mansion and made himself at home playing with that marvelous collection of supernatural artifacts. And now he’s going to find himself in a wee bit of trouble because of it…
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, I’m merely playing with it.
> 
> Warnings: If you have severe snake phobia so that reading about swarms of them will be a trigger, this fic might not be for you.

 

 

Prologue

 

“Let’s be reasonable about this,” Crowley said amiably, even as he silently cursed opening the cage of the hag standing before him. Was she grateful that he had freed her from her prison? Did she feel indebted to his benevolence? _Noo_.

Instead, two dozen beady eyes fixed Crowley with predatory glares, forked tongues flicking in and out of their mouths. The crown of writhing snakes framed a woman’s wrathful face. Slitted pupils haloed in red looked down a sharp nose to skewer the crossroads demon.

“I should disembowel you where you stand,” she spat. One of the ruby serpents hissed to punctuate her sentence.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “That’s my line, darling.”

She sneered at him. Most of the monsters locked up in Magnus’s zoo weren’t worth Crowley’s attention. Since taking over the deceased magician’s invisible fortress, he’d been cleaning out the cells to ready them for his enemies, but the prize he’d discovered in one of the deep dark corners had been intriguing as a promising ally. Or so he’d thought.

“Listen,” Crowley continued. “The Apocalypse has started since you’ve been away, and I’m sure you want to see the world end as much as I do. We can help each other.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You are beneath me, Hell-spawn. I am a goddess!”

Crowley bit back a sigh. This woman was incorrigible. “Please,” he scoffed. “You’re a forgotten monster out of time. What do you plan to do on your own, leave a trail of petrified statues in your murderous wake? That’s a sure-fire way to attract hunters.”

“Hunters cannot kill me.” She sniffed haughtily.

Crowley cocked a brow thoughtfully. “Not unless they’re warded against you, as Magnus was. I know all of his little tricks…including that pesky binding ritual that had you licking his feet like a lap dog.”

The gorgon pulled her lips back to bare her teeth. “You dare threaten me?” Several snake heads hissed and snapped their jaws.

Before Crowley could assure her that wasn’t his intent and resume cajoling her into cooperating, she lunged, crooked fingers with tapered fingernails poised to slash at his face. He teleported away at the last second, reappearing behind her as she stumbled and stopped her momentum against a glass window of another display cage. Time to conclude negotiations, he supposed.

Crowley raised a hand, materializing a machete out of thin air, and swung it at the hag’s neck. The gorgon must have caught the reflection, however, because she spun around and shot a bronze hand up to catch his arm. Crowley glowered as he tried to wrench free, but the wretch’s strength was surprisingly a match for his own.

One of the snakes on her head lashed out, sinking fangs deep into tender flesh between his thumb and index finger. Fiery pain plunged through Crowley’s hand, and the shock forced him to drop the blade.

The gorgon bent his wrist back until it cracked, and then shoved her other hand into his chest. Oxygen whooshed from his lungs as he flew backward through the air and hit the cement floor, sliding several feet before he knocked against the wall.

Grunting against a host of stabbing pains throughout his body, Crowley frantically got to his feet…and blinked at the empty hallway. Well, that had gone well.

He brushed the dirt off his suit, and winced as a dull throb pulsed through his palm. Crowley lifted his hand to inspect four, evenly-spaced puncture marks, deep and nearly black. There was no blood, but as he stared at the wound, the skin around the edges of the hole began turning a light gray.

“Bollocks.”

* * *

Chapter 1

 

“It’s not funny,” Dean growled.

Sam barely contained a snicker as they trudged through a field under the light of a full moon. They’d just completed a salt and burn, and while the midnight beacon provided enough illumination to find their way back to the road where they’d parked the Impala, it hadn’t shown the gnarled root jutting up from the ground…or the pile of cow shit just beyond it. Dean had stumbled upon it the hard way: literally.

_Stupid ghost._ It’d lunged at Sam, and of course Dean had to jump in with a swing of iron. But as the spirit dissipated in a violent swish, Dean’s foot had snagged on the root and he’d gone down.

“I can’t climb into my baby like this,” he groused. Dark brown coated the front of his shirt and sleeves from when he’d thrashed to climb out of the gooey mess. His jeans were also smeared where he’d tried to wipe his hands clean. _Oh god, the smell._

Sam snorted. “You really want to _walk_ the six miles back to town?”

Dean grumbled under his breath. No, he didn’t. He was exhausted, hungry, and reeked. But he was not soiling his baby.

“I’ll call Cas to give me a lift.” Dean reached for his pocket, but stopped himself before he could contaminate his phone. He never thought he’d wish for something as girly as hand disinfectant. “Uh, how about you call Cas.”

Sam gave him a canted look. “You really want to ask Cas to be your personal taxi? You know his powers are slowly waning.”

“But this is an emergency.” He gestured to himself and then at the Impala.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I doubt Cas will agree.”

“Just call him, will ya?”

With an exasperated head shake, Sam withdrew his phone and punched one of the speed dials. “Hey, Cas. No, everything’s fine. If you’re not busy, Dean would like you to pop over. He has something to ask you.”

Dean shot his brother a dirty look for making it sound like they were sixth-grade girls passing notes in class. Sam merely smirked.

“Oh, well his phone’s not working. Yeah. We’re, uh, by a field just outside Beaumont, Utah.” He scanned up and down the dirt road. “Maybe a mile south from 32 Creighton Drive.”

Dean waited for the rush of wings to accompany the angel’s arrival, though it wasn’t as instantaneous as he was used to. He’d blame it on Sam’s directions instead of the possibility that Cas’s flying ability was beginning to suffer the ramifications of being cut off from Heaven.

It only took an extra thirty seconds or so for Cas to appear, the ends of his trench coat fluttering in the wake of invisible wings. He and Sam hung up their phones at the same time, and Cas swept his gaze over the Winchesters. His brow dipped slightly.

“What is that pungent odor?”

Sam snorted under his breath. “That would be Dean.”

“Shut up, bitch.” He had half a mind to wipe his hand over the crud on his shirt and slap Sam’s face with it. But then there’d be no one to drive the Impala back to town, and he was not leaving his baby out here overnight.

“Dean had a run-in with some cow excrement,” Sam said, barely keeping the smug look off his face. “Jerk,” he added.

Cas studied Dean’s appearance in the haloed glow of moonlight. “But you are uninjured?”

“Yeah, we’re fine.” Dean rolled his shoulder. “Um, mind zapping me back to the motel so I can get cleaned up?”

Cas’s brow furrowed a fraction more, and he spent a long moment appraising Dean before glancing at the Impala, as though working out exactly the Winchester’s reasoning behind the request, especially since Dean hadn’t made it a secret how much he disliked flying “Angel Air.”

Sam rolled his eyes skyward. “You can say no, Cas. Dean’s just being a baby.”

“You want to ride back in the car with me?” he snapped.

Sam closed his mouth as he seemed to think better of the idea. “Now that you mention it…” He grimaced and tossed Cas a half-apologetic, half-beseeching look.

The angel gave a minute head shake as though to himself, but stepped forward, two fingers outstretched toward Dean’s forehead. Sam hastily blurted out the motel’s address before Dean felt a shove and was briefly swallowed in a blinding vortex of wind. He staggered upright in the motel room, blinking away the lingering vertigo. _Ugh_. It was worth it though.

Cas took in their surroundings: the red plaid bedcovers, grainy wood-paneled walls displaying a mounted bass—thank god not the rubber one that sang—and blocky wooden dinette table. Another town, another wayward stop.

Dean immediately went for his duffel and pulled out a change of clothes. “I’m gonna hop in the shower.”

Cas turned his head to look at him. “Is that all you needed?”

He winced, even though he couldn’t really tell if Cas’s bland tone held resentment or not. “I do appreciate it, man. So does Sam. He would’ve been bitching after five minutes stuck in a car with this.” Dean gestured to himself.

Cas’s expression pinched slightly. “Yes, you are quite unpleasant at the moment.”

Dean didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended. “Do you have somewhere to be? ‘Cause you should stick around for a bit. Sam and I just finished a hunt, which means going out to unwind.”

Cas pursed his lips. “If ‘unwind’ means you will be visiting a den of iniquity, then perhaps I should…take a rain ticket.”

Dean shook his head. “Rain check, Cas. And relax, we’ll go to a normal bar.”

“But the den of iniquity sounds much more fun.”

Dean jumped and whirled toward the source of the British voice, drawing his gun in one smooth motion. “ _Crowley?_ ” He gaped in disbelief at the crossroads demon standing by the table, hands stuffed in his suit pockets. Dean had never expected to see the slimy salesman again after he’d moved into an invisible fortress to hide from Lucifer.

The demon wrinkled his nose at Dean. “Please tell me you weren’t planning to go out smelling like that.”

Dean lowered his gun. “What the hell do you want?”

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“We’re not friends,” Dean growled. He didn’t know what the hell they were. Not allies per se, though Crowley had helped them find the Colt—more or less. Never mind the gun hadn’t actually _worked_ on the Devil.

Crowley pulled one hand out of his pocket to press over his chest. “That hurts, Squirrel, after everything I’ve done for you.”

“You mean turning tail and running when things went south. _Twice_?”

“Excuse me, but who saved all your lives in the end?”

Dean scowled. He wanted nothing more than to gank the demon right then and there, past truce be damned. But they were at a stalemate, for Dean’s gun only had mere bullets, and Cas’s smiting ability was nonexistent. Ruby’s demon killing knife, unfortunately, was with Sam in the Impala on his way back.

“What do you want?” Cas asked calmly, though his stiff posture and mistrustful gaze belied his ease.

Crowley inclined his head. “I’d say you chaps owe me a favor.”

Dean snorted. “You only helped us before to benefit yourself. We don’t owe you jack.”

Cas turned his head slightly to Dean. “Who is—”

Dean shot a hand up to cut off the angel, attention still on their uninvited guest. “Unless you have another way to ice the Devil, we’re done here.”

Crowley sighed in exasperation. “Look, a monster escaped from Magnus’s zoo.”

Dean stiffened. Sometimes he had nightmares of that place…and a gray-eyed Cas magically brainwashed by that douchebag Magnus. He cast a furtive glance at his friend, noticing how Cas’s shoulders had gone slightly more rigid.

“I know you won’t let your animosity toward me keep you from saving all those innocent people it could hurt,” Crowley continued.

“Why do you care?”

Crowley lifted one shoulder lackadaisically. “She may have bitten me on her way out, and I need the antidote.”

Dean raised his brows. A poison that could take out a demon? “You’re dying?”

Crowley finally withdrew his other hand from his pocket and held it up. “In a manner of speaking.”

Dean stared at the ashen skin, gray and cracked like crinkled newspaper. “What the hell is that?”

“You’re turning to stone,” Cas spoke up.

“Give the angel a cookie,” Crowley snipped. “Now, can we discuss hunting down the gorgon?”

Dean frowned. “The what?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Don’t they teach you any of the classics in hunter school? Gorgon: hideous woman with a head full of snakes.”

Dean felt a flash of indignation before he processed Crowley’s full sentence. “Let me get this straight, Medusa gave you a hickey so you decide to show up on our doorstep and ask us to get you some antibiotic ointment?”

“Actually, it was Stheno, Medusa’s psychotic older sister.”

Dean blinked at that, but then started shaking his head. “Whatever. You’re the one who moved into that mansion. Clean up your own mess.”

Crowley sighed, and swept his gaze around the room. “Where’s your moose?”

Dean snorted. “Not here. And don’t count on his sympathy.”

Crowley angled a knowing look at Dean. “Sympathy? No, your brother has a more significant use than that.” He pursed his lips. “However, since he is not here at the moment, I believe a substitute will work just as well.”

Dean didn’t see the gun materialize in Crowley’s hand until the demon’s arm was halfway raised. A crack split the air, and Dean flinched, braced for fiery agony to rip through his body. It never came, but he saw Cas jerk and stumble back a step. The angel dropped his gaze to his left shoulder, brow creasing in puzzlement as a splotch of red began seeping through his coat.

“You son-of-a-bitch.” Dean whipped his gun back toward Crowley, mindful that his ammo still wouldn’t do any lasting harm to the demon.

Crowley lifted his hands, pistol dangling from one finger through the trigger ring. “Down, Squirrel, it was a harmless lead bullet.”

“Cas?” Dean called worriedly, wanting to check the damage but unable to take his eyes off the threat in the room. Dammit, he was going to _kill_ Crowley.

“I’m fine,” Cas said gruffly, voice sounding strained.

“What the hell was that for?” Dean shouted at the demon.

“Consider it motivation.”

“You shoot Cas for fun and think there’s any chance in hell we’ll help you now?” Dean stepped right up to Crowley and pressed the barrel of his handgun to the demon’s forehead. Whether it would kill him or not, Dean should still shoot him between the eyes on principle.

“Oh, did I say harmless?” A smug smirk twitched the corners of Crowley’s lips. “There is the poison that bullet was laced with.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. “What?”

The demon flicked his gaze to Castiel. “It’s a slow-acting venom with a timetable similar to my own. Actually, this works out better because now Moose won’t be laid up and you both can work on hunting the gorgon.”

Dean shot a panicked glance over his shoulder.

“You’re lying,” Cas said.

“I’m never without a contingency plan,” Crowley said pleasantly. “So while I’d planned to infect Winchester Number Two, I made sure to pick a poison that would work on all kinds of entities.” He looked back at Dean. “Including the angel that follows you two around like a lost puppy.”

It took every ounce of strength for Dean not to pull the trigger right then. Maybe Crowley was bluffing about a poison that could take out an angel, maybe he wasn’t. Either way though, Cas was cut off from Heaven and most of his powers, which left him vulnerable to things he’d never had to be wary of in the past.

Dean grabbed Crowley by the lapels of his suit jacket and slammed him back against the wall, keeping his gun pressed firmly against his head so as to leave an indentation.

“What’s the cure?” he snarled.

Crowley lifted his infected hand, pores dilated like gray stucco, and pushed Dean’s grip down from his neck. The hunter jerked away from the cold, gravelly contact, belatedly hoping the venom wasn’t contagious.

“Not how this works, mate,” Crowley said. “A cure for a cure; that’s the arrangement.” He frowned as he peered over Dean’s shoulder. “Ah, perhaps you should pull the bullet out first.”

Dean whipped his head around to glance at Cas, who had gone a few shades too white and was swaying where he stood as he stared at the bullet wound. Bright crimson now covered his entire shoulder and part way down one side of his chest.

Forgetting Crowley, Dean hurried to the angel’s side and gripped his other arm. “Cas?”

Castiel lifted his head and blinked owlishly at him. “It won’t heal.”


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel stared at the vermillion stain spreading down his front, riveted by the vibrant red shade. He knew he should be feeling some measure of fear at the persistent bleeding and the way his grace pulsed inside the wound, yet was unable to make the lead bullet disappear. But he was feeling strange, sort of light and fluttery. Castiel was tempted to spread his wings and catch a current into the ether where he could glide to match the swaying sensation in his head.

“Cas? Cas!”

He flinched at Dean’s voice shouting in his ear, and blinked to bring the hunter into focus. “Yes, Dean?”

“Jeez, don’t go catatonic on me, man.” Dean pushed him gently two feet over to sit on the edge of one of the beds. “Shit,” he muttered as he peeled the trench coat back. “Cas, you gotta heal it.”

“I’m trying,” Castiel replied, somewhat annoyed. Yet the barely concealed terror on Dean’s face made him pause to evaluate the situation. His vessel was losing too much blood, he realized, which must have been contributing to that lightheaded feeling.

He focused his grace, swirling it around the wound. It still wouldn’t touch the center where the bullet was lodged, but Castiel felt immense relief when it mended the torn blood vessels. He wasn’t ready to believe that poison was the reason he couldn’t fully heal. No, more likely it was due to his reduced powers. If the bullet was removed, his grace would finish repairing his injury.

Which left the likely unpleasant task of how to get it out…

The door opened then and Sam walked in, freezing with one foot over the threshold. His gaze took in Dean standing over a bloody Castiel and Crowley standing casually in the opposite corner, hands in his pockets again.

“What the hell… Dean?” The younger Winchester’s hand hovered near his jacket, prepared to draw a weapon.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Moose,” Crowley said, and walked to the mini refrigerator. He drew out a beer, grimacing at the label. “You boys have no taste.”

“Someone tell me what the hell is going on,” Sam snapped. “Cas, are you okay?”

“I need Dean to dig the bullet out,” Castiel replied stoically.

Sam’s eyes widened. “ _Bullet?_ ” He snapped his gaze around the room, but Crowley had already tossed his weapon back into the void, and Dean’s gun was lying on the other bed.

The crossroads demon heaved a sigh. “Yes, I shot your angel. Don’t worry, the bullet won’t kill him, though the poison will. Unless you two boy scouts track down a gorgon to get an antidote for me.” He waggled his graying fingers around the beer bottle before taking another swig.

Sam sputtered, shooting alarmed glances between his brother and Crowley. Dean ignored them both as he tore his soiled shirts off and tossed them in a corner. He grabbed the clean shirt he’d been ready to take into the bathroom and pressed it to Castiel’s shoulder. Cas flinched and tried to recoil, but Dean clapped a hand on his back and held him still. Of the many things Castiel disliked about his weakened state, the all-too-human amplification of pain was up there on his list.

Sam looked torn between rushing to Dean’s aid and attacking Crowley.

The demon moved toward the door. “I’ll be outside while you two play doctor. Don’t take too long though.” He paused as he stepped past Sam. “Oh, and thank Kitten there for taking a bullet for you.” Crowley shut the door on his way out.

Sam blinked in bewilderment before rushing to his brother and Cas. “What the hell did he mean by that? Dean? Dean!”

“Doesn’t matter,” the older Winchester muttered. “Get the kit.”

Sam turned away to rifle through his own duffel wedged between the bed and the wall. He pulled out a first-aid box, grabbed a towel from the ring next to the sink, and laid them out on the bed. His panicked gaze met Castiel’s.

“The bullet is preventing me from healing the wound,” Castiel felt obligated to explain. “Once it’s removed, my grace will be able to work again.”

Sam glanced at Dean, exchanging a meaningful look. “But Crowley mentioned poison…”

“I am not convinced he was telling the truth about its effect on angels. However, to be safe you both should wear gloves.”

There was another beat of silence and wordless communication between the brothers. It amazed Castiel how they did that.

“Alright,” Dean said roughly, and pulled his bloody t-shirt away from Castiel’s shoulder. “One thing at a time. Looks like the bleeding stopped. Sam, get his coat and shirt off. I need to wash my hands.”

Sam stepped in front of Cas while Dean grabbed another change of clothes and went into the bathroom. A moment later, the sound of rushing water from the faucet came muffled through the door. Sam loosened Castiel’s tie and slipped it over his head. Then he helped pull the angel’s arms out of the trench coat. Castiel’s jaw tightened at a stab of pain when he moved. Sam tried to be gentle as he removed the suit jacket and shirt, and Castiel found himself shivering from an unpleasant sensation washing over his exposed torso. Was that…cold? Must be the blood loss. He would have to replenish his vessel once his grace was unimpeded.

“Lay back,” Sam instructed.

Castiel started to, but shot his hands out to catch himself when the tilted movement felt too much like falling. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Whoa, you okay?” Sam’s voice echoed at his side.

“Yes.”

Castiel heard a snort before hands settled on his back and uninjured shoulder, easing him down. He sank into the soft mattress, its plush embrace something he’d begun to associate with periods of pain and weakness. The dichotomy perplexed him.

Sam put on a pair of gloves and leaned over to examine the bullet wound. Behind the hunter’s stiff lip, Castiel felt waves of self-reproach and remorse radiating off the young Winchester.

“You have no reason to feel guilty, Sam.”

“That bullet was meant for me though, wasn’t it?”

“We can check when you pull it out, but I doubt it had your name on it.”

Sam’s brows shot up. “Shit, Cas, was that a joke?”

Castiel tilted his head against the comforter. “I don’t know, maybe?” He supposed he was only half-serious; after all, bullets didn’t have names engraved on them to serve as target-seeking projectiles. They merely exploded from a muzzle under the pressure of ignited gunpowder, carving a straight line to whatever happened to be in their path.

Sam shook his head as he wiped blood away from the hole. “Still, I should be the one laying here, not you.”

“It’s better this way. I cannot heal you, but can heal myself faster than you could on your own.”

“That’s not a good reason for you to keep taking hits for us.”

Castiel furrowed his brow. “Would you like a list of other reasons?”

Dean reemerged then, wearing a change of jeans and plain white T-shirt. “Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s get this done,” Sam replied. “Cas is getting punchy.”

“I did not hit you,” he protested, only to wince when his shoulder throbbed.

Dean arched a brow. “How much whiskey did you give him?”

Sam snorted. “None yet.”

Dean went to his duffel and retrieved a silver flask. “Good thing Crowley didn’t spot this,” he muttered.

“I do not require alcohol.”

“This is going to hurt, Cas,” Sam said as he leaned over to sift through the kit.

“I’ve had worse.”

“Disinfect?” Dean asked. When Sam nodded, he poured some of the bottle’s contents over the entrance wound. Castiel gritted his teeth against the liquid fire that erupted in response.

“Still don’t want any?” Dean’s voice broke through the haze, and Castiel cracked his eyes open, not having realized he’d closed them. He gave a small shake of his head.

“Okay, man. Just let us know if you change your mind.” Dean screwed the cap back on the flask and set it down. Then he put on his own pair of gloves. “You got this?” he asked Sam.

Sam straightened, holding a pair of surgical tongs. “Yeah.” He swallowed hard.

“Do not be concerned about me, Sam. Please, proceed.” Castiel braced himself as Sam inserted the metal accoutrement into his wound, sending waves of fire through his nerve endings. Being cut off from Heaven, he was becoming more bound to his vessel—and it was _his_ vessel now. Jimmy’s soul had been released to Heaven when Castiel had been killed by the archangel. Being so closely tied to this earthly form, however, made all its mortal vices that more poignant. But he refused to be made weak by them.

Castiel usually had a very acute awareness of time, but as Sam continued to poke and dig around in the muscle and tissue inside his shoulder, all concept of minutes and seconds evaporated, and he was only aware of the present, searing agony. The burn spread down to the center of his chest, and his head began to vibrate as well.

“Breathe, Cas,” Dean said, sounding vaguely alarmed.

Castiel forced himself to inhale, clenching his teeth as the rising of his chest intensified the pain.

“Dammit,” Sam uttered. “I have to make the hole bigger.”

Castiel managed to open his eyes and catch the fearful looks on the brothers’ faces. “I’m fine, keep going,” he said, ruefully noting how weak his voice had gotten.

Dean passed Sam a small knife, and the Winchester took a deep breath before angling it down and making a small incision. The sharp sting made Castiel wince, but no sound escaped him; he didn’t want to make the boys feel worse. After all, what they were doing was necessary. However, breathing was also necessary, Castiel was discovering, and maintaining a balance between stout silence and rhythmic inhaling and exhaling took quite the effort.

At last, he felt a firm tug as Sam extracted the bit of lead, followed by a plink as it was dropped into a glass. Castiel immediately pushed his grace into the area, knitting tissues and veins back together. He heard a soft gasp from one of the boys, presumably as they watched skin meld together and smooth out as though there had never been a hole.

Castiel opened his eyes and sat up, perhaps too quickly, as the ceiling and the walls suddenly switched places. Hands grabbed him on either shoulder.

“Easy, you alright?” Dean’s voice broke through the haze.

“Fine.” He breathed through the dizziness, and it gradually dispelled. Glancing at his clothes piled on the bed, he blinked, redressing himself sans bloodstains.

Dean shook his head. “Okay then.” He ripped off his gloves and threw them in the trash can.

“So do we call Crowley back in?” Sam asked uncertainly as he dumped his surgical utensils in a bowl of water.

“We should not deal with the demon,” Castiel interjected.

“Yeah, I’d love to gank his sorry ass,” Dean said. “But we need the cure for whatever he dosed you with.”

Castiel frowned. “I feel fine.”

“He said slow-acting poison.”

“Regardless, deals with demons never work out.”

“That’s not what you said when we were looking for the Colt.”

Castiel suppressed a sigh. “That was different.”

Sam thrust his palms up between the two of them. “Saving the world, saving each other—including you, Cas—it doesn’t matter. We make the deal.”

The door clicked and swung open, revealing Crowley. “I think someone was singing my song.”

* * *

Sam gritted his teeth at the smarmy look on the demon’s face. Like Dean, he felt the urge to wipe that expression off Crowley with a bullet or two between the eyes, but now they needed him if they were going to help Cas. Even though the angel had insisted this wasn’t Sam’s fault, and rationally he knew better, he still couldn’t help feeling a measure of guilt—Cas was in this situation because he was close to the Winchesters, and if there was one weakness they had, it was protecting their family. In that regard, it didn’t really matter whether it had been Sam who was shot or not; they’d still be standing here ready to make a deal.

Crowley pulled a rolled up scroll from inside his suit jacket. “I’ve written up the terms for our business arrangement.” With a snap of his wrist, the paper unfurled twenty inches down. Sam blinked at the compacted paragraphs written in 10 point font.

Dean made a noise of outrage. “You said a cure for a cure. What the hell is all that?”

“Clauses for added protection. After our business is concluded, we both agree not to try killing each other for a minimum of six months. That way you don’t get any ideas after you’ve gotten your hands on the cure for your wingman.”

“You expect us to trust you?”

“ _I’m_ a demon of my word,” Crowley snapped. He rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll even put in that should I try to double-cross you before we both get our respective cures, Kitten will automatically be healed.”

Sam exchanged a wary look with Dean. Crowley seemed desperate enough. Besides, he didn’t really want them dead, not when he was hoping they’d kill Lucifer.

Crowley sighed. “I’m _trying_ to be magnanimous here. Honestly, such generosity could ruin a demon’s reputation.” He turned and set his beer on the dinette table, only to frown when his fingers didn’t unwrap from the bottle. He gave his hand a rough shake, sloshing liquid out of the top to splash along his cemented hand and partially petrified sleeve. “Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered. “I couldn’t get stuck with a classic vintage?”

Sam’s eyes widened. They needed to work fast if they were going to cure Crowley in time to save Cas. But Sam was not going to rush into a deal blindly.

He stepped forward. “Let me see the contract.”

Crowley’s expression was a dark scowl as he tore his attention away from his frozen wrist. He thrust the scroll at Sam.

“We get the antidote for the gorgon and you give us the cure for Cas, simultaneous exchange.”

Crowley waved his good hand impatiently. “Yes, fine.”

Sam watched as a line of text bled into ink blotches before reforming with those terms. He continued reading the contract. “Six months non-aggression pact. But if anything happens to Cas, Dean, or me in that time, that clause is void.”

Crowley threw his arms up, tossing more beer out of the bottle to splatter the wall. “With all of Heaven and Hell after you three? I can’t be held responsible for outside circumstances.”

“ _Also_ , if Cas dies before we complete this mission, your life is immediately forfeit.”

Crowley’s brows shot up. “Excuse me? What kind of deal is that?”

“The kind I’m giving you,” Sam replied.

“Neither of us has time to quibble,” the demon said, voice rising in pitch.

“Then I suggest you stop complaining and give me what I want.” Sam looked up from the scroll, catching a bewildered look on Dean’s face. Cas was simply staring at him with a thoughtful crease in his forehead.

“You seem to be missing the part where your angel _dies_ unless I provide the cure.”

Sam shook his head. “Dean and I will find a cure one way or the other. You’re the one who looks like he has less time to bank on.”

Crowley’s face was turning red. “This is not how you conduct negotiations!”

Sam passed the contract back. “It is when you threaten my family. In addition…”

Crowley groaned.

“Dean and I will need protection against the gorgon so we’re not immediately turned to stone. You’ll give us access to Magnus’s collection, as I’m sure he had something.”

The crossroads demon’s glare looked as though it would shoot daggers. “Access to materials related to gorgons only.”

“Fine.”

Crowley waved a finger over the parchment, moving text around.

“Finally,” Sam said authoritatively.

Crowley just raised his eyes to the ceiling as though praying, which was ironic.

“Since this deal does not involve the signing over of souls, the contract will be binding with signatures only, no kissing.”

Dean made a small noise of agreement.

“Fine,” Crowley bit out, shaking his head. With one last flourish, the letters on the scroll solidified, and he shoved it back toward Sam. “Sign on the dotted line.”

Sam took a minute to re-read the changes, ignoring the way Crowley began tapping his foot. Satisfied with the contents, he grabbed a pen and signed his name, then passed it to Dean and nodded. Casting him a wary look, Dean nonetheless leaned over to scribble his signature next to Sam’s. Then he handed the contract back toward Crowley.

“Kitten signs too. Can’t have you two finding a loophole in the ‘don’t kill Crowley’ clause by having your angel do it.”

Dean rolled his eyes and passed the paper and pen to Cas, who stared at them blankly.

“I am not making a deal with a demon.”

“You have to,” Dean said. “This is how we get a cure for you.”

Cas furrowed his brow stubbornly, looking ready to argue.

“Cas,” Sam pleaded. “I’ve read over it carefully. There’s nothing immoral and we’re not agreeing to do anything we wouldn’t be doing on our own, such as hunting the gorgon. Please.”

Dean shook the scroll in front of the angel. Still looking as though he’d like to smite them all, Cas slowly took the pen and set the tip to the parchment. He scrawled his name painstakingly slow, but when he finished, Dean rolled it up and slapped it against Crowley’s chest.

Grumbling, the demon stuffed the contract in his suit jacket and cast a baleful look at the beer bottle stuck in his hand. “Right, shall we? I suggest I teleport you to my mansion in order to save time, since we are _running the clock here_.”

“Cas can transport us,” Dean cut in. “We’ll meet you there.”

“Fine.” The demon disappeared.

Sam took a steadying breath. They were in it now. He turned to find Dean staring at him with an odd look.

Sam rolled his shoulders self-consciously. “What?”

Dean shook himself. “Nothin’. Just…you would’ve made a damn good lawyer.” A smile twitched the corner of his mouth.

Sam felt a small swell of warmth at the pride in his brother’s voice…and regret over the normal life he’d almost had. But this current one wasn’t all bad. He had his family, and that’s what mattered.

If only they weren’t always trying to save each other from dying…


	3. Chapter 3

To say Dean was impressed with his little brother’s negotiating skills would be a vast understatement. Sam had been friggin’ awesome. The cool collectedness, confident poise…Dean had just gotten a glimpse of what Sam’s life could have been like had he finished school and gotten a normal job. Dean had no doubt his kid brother could have become a top-notch attorney, browbeating criminals into plea bargains like a smooth-talking Matlock.

Until Dean had dragged him back into hunting. He shook his head; there was no time for guilt right now. They had a job to do and people to save, including their best friend.

“You good to fly us to Colorado, Cas?” They should have asked what to expect from Crowley’s poison, but part of Dean didn’t want to know. And hey, maybe Cas would be stronger than it, like the angel thought.

“Yes,” Cas replied, still sounding grumpy over having to sign Crowley’s deal.

“Good.” Dean grabbed their weapons’ bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Castiel cocked his head in that birdlike manner of his before extending his hands toward Dean and Sam. Dean braced himself as for the second time that night, a maelstrom of wind and shadow swallowed him whole and spat him out an instant later in a moderately wooded area. Light was just beginning to show along the horizon, dimly revealing a barren field that looked as though the reeds had been flattened in a square crop circle. As soon as Dean turned toward the bare patch, golden light flickered and wavered like liquid, peeling back to reveal the front of a three-story, brick-laden house. Ivy crept up around beveled windows and an ornate mahogany door, which suddenly opened.

“Yes, let’s just stand around and gawk,” Crowley snipped. “It’s not as though anyone’s _dying_ here.”

Dean gritted his teeth and started forward.

“How long ago did the gorgon escape from here?” Cas spoke up.

“Yesterday evening, why?”

Cas turned to the Winchesters. “I will check the area and attempt to locate her whereabouts while you prepare yourselves.”

“Wait, what—” Dean started, but the angel had already disappeared in a flutter of wings. “Dammit, Cas!” What the hell was he thinking?

Sam shrugged. “Give him a break, Dean. This place probably has some bad memories. Plus, we really do need a location, and considering our timetable, multi-tasking is a good idea.”

Dean bit back a scowl. Cas wasn’t the only one haunted by Magnus’s _zoo_ , but Sam had a point about tracking the gorgon. They didn’t even know what their timetable was, though Crowley was sort of serving as an hourglass—half his forearm appeared to have petrified. If Cas would start to deteriorate at the same pace, then they still had some time.

“Chop chop, boys,” Crowley called impatiently.

“Yeah, fine.” With grim determination, Dean strode inside, hoping Magnus really did have a spell to protect against a gorgon…and that they’d find it in time.

* * *

Castiel landed twenty-five miles from Magnus’s invisible fortress, figuring the gorgon would have been able to travel at least that far on foot since her escape. He stood in the middle of a forest, a good distance from any town. The gorgon’s visage would instantly turn mortals to stone, so if she wanted to “keep a low profile” as Dean would say, then she would avoid populated areas. For now.

Robin’s-egg blue and lilac tinted the sky with the waxing dawn. Castiel rolled his shoulders, feeling a slight twinge in his wings. They never used to ache from flying before, yet the act that had once come so effortlessly when he’d been connected to the Host now required stamina. And he’d taken passengers twice that night already, in addition to being shot.

Perhaps he should have stayed with the Winchesters, but…he was ashamed to admit, he wasn’t ready to venture back into that supernatural stronghold. It was irrational the way an involuntary shiver ran down his spine at the memory of that horrid place. The magician was dead, and could no longer enslave Castiel’s mind. Still, there were things inside that mansion that were capable of undoing him, which a demon had full access to. The contract currently protected Castiel and the Winchesters, but he wanted to conclude their business as quickly as possible.

Making the deal still left a bitter taste in Castiel’s mouth. He would have preferred the brothers slay the demon on the spot, but of course Sam and Dean refused to sacrifice him like that. Regardless of the leverage Crowley was holding over them though—which Castiel still wasn’t convinced of—there was the matter of not letting a gorgon run loose. And the Winchesters needed access to Magnus’s resources in order to arm themselves effectively, so for that reason, Castiel had conceded and signed the agreement.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out to find a text message from Dean.

_“If you fly into a tree and get stranded somewhere, I’m going to kick your ass.”_

Castiel rolled his eyes and sent a reply. _“I’m fine.”_

His phone buzzed again. _“And don’t even think of taking on the gorgon alone.”_

He sighed and punched his thumb over the keypad. _“Alright.”_

He would simply find the gorgon and then report back to the Winchesters…though if he managed to kill the creature on his own, then they’d no longer be obliged to help Crowley… But Sam and Dean would be furious.

A dull throb pulsed in Castiel’s shoulder, and he frowned. Reaching out with his senses, he confirmed the wound had fully healed. Perhaps he was experiencing a phantom echo of pain. Humans had that happen sometimes. It seemed Castiel was getting closer to mortal than angel these days. That gave him pause as he considered the gorgon. She would not be able to turn him to stone with a look, but he might be vulnerable to a bite from her snakes, much as Crowley had been even as a powerful crossroads demon. And if he was susceptible to that, then perhaps the poison Crowley said he used…

With a heavy sigh, Castiel acknowledged that he should tread carefully. Slipping his phone back in his pocket, he began to walk through the forest. Soft mulch sagged beneath his silent footsteps, and he cast his senses out, but didn’t detect any life forms. He rounded a tight copse of trees and froze as he came face to face with a large stag. For a moment he was stunned; how had he not sensed the animal? A second look gave the answer: opaque, sightless eyes looked out from a face etched in coarse stone. At least he knew he was on the right trail.

Castiel spread his wings and took flight, landing a few miles away at a farm, the only human dwelling in the vicinity. He stood outside a large barn that sat alone and isolated from the main house, which was set a good distance away. In between was an even larger structure made of paned glass. Lush trees and foliage filled the inside.

The rising sun blazed behind him, drowning the vista in liquid gold and whiting out the windows of the greenhouse. Castiel turned in a slow circle. The farm seemed unnaturally quiet…a silence that was then shattered by the sound of something fragile breaking into pieces.

Castiel walked into the barn. His footsteps fell lightly over the hay-strewn floor as he navigated down an L-shaped aisle to the corner. None of the pens held beasts of burden, which he supposed was unusual. Another smash punctuated the stillness, followed by a muffled grunt. Someone was displeased.

Castiel turned the corner, the edge of his trench coat catching on a raised nail head. The resultant snag tugged him back a step, knocking him into a stack of empty barrels that proceeded to topple and thunk against the floor. Castiel wrenched free of the nail and stared a moment at the mess before he noticed the barn had fallen completely silent. Yet no one appeared to investigate the noise.

He continued down the aisle, passing empty pens, until he came to one full of scattered ceramic fragments. Apparently someone had been lobbing pottery at the wall. But why, and where had they gotten to?

Castiel stepped into the pen, running his gaze across the ground. He frowned as he spotted some granite pieces among the clay—bird heads and squirrel tails and rabbit ears… The gorgon?

A disturbance of air was the only warning Castiel had, and he whirled around as a woman dressed in an amber gown stepped into the stall’s entryway. Stheno was as hideous as legend made her out to be, with slitted pupils, tanned skin that darkened to bronze at her hands, and a mantle of writhing cochineal snakes tangling around her head.

She narrowed her eyes at him, drawing her lips back to bare her teeth. “You’re not human.”

“No.” He dropped his angel blade from his sleeve into his hand.

A brief flash of fear crossed her face as she took in the celestial sword, and several of her serpents snapped their jaws at the air. “Since when do angels hunt monsters? I hear you’re supposed to be busy with the Apocalypse. Or are you one of the fallen, here to ask me to join your cause?”

Castiel fixed the gorgon with a menacing look. He may have fallen, but he was _not_ with Lucifer. “Why were you engaged in petty destruction of property?”

Stheno arched her brows, bushy black crescents that glinted with tiny red scales. She flicked her gaze at the smashed ceramics and petrified rodents. “Yes, well, I’ve been imprisoned for the past several decades and needed a…release. These were the only things readily available.” She smirked. “At the moment.”

Castiel tightened his grip on his blade, even as a voice in the back of his mind—that sounded remarkably like Dean—whispered that confrontation was a bad idea.

“You will not be allowed to wreak havoc on this earth.”

Stheno tossed her head back and laughed. “Dear, I haven’t even _begun_.”

Without warning, she lunged, elongated fingernails curled like talons. Castiel pivoted to the side, narrowly avoiding getting slashed. One of the snakes lashed out at him, and he swiped his angel blade in one clean stroke that decapitated the head.

Stheno let out an ear-piercing shriek and slammed into the back wall, hands thrown up to clutch her head as dark carmine blood dribbled between her fingers. The other serpents thrashed about, contorting their bodies in enraged vigor.

Castiel took a step toward the gorgon when pain stabbed through his shoulder. He faltered. Something was… _wrong_. An insistent ache pulsed through muscle. He didn’t understand—it was _healed_.

Stheno looked up, nostrils flaring with rage. With one hand still clutching the stump on her head, she reached out with the other as though to grab him.

Castiel gritted his teeth as a wave of dizziness threatened to topple him right into the gorgon’s arms. No, he’d promised Dean and Sam. Stheno stumbled forward, and Castiel leaped into the ether.

* * *

“You’ll find all of the gorgon related material in this room,” Crowley was saying as he led them down a corridor and opened a set of double doors into a parlor.

Sam paused on the threshold, eyes widening at the mess of open books scattered across two large desks and the floor, some hanging halfway off their bookshelves. “Let me guess. You couldn’t find a cure.”

“Not one that didn’t involve milking one of the hag’s snakes, no,” the demon replied.

“Excuse me?” Dean raised his eyebrows. “We’re supposed to ‘milk’ a snake? What, like a friggin’ cow?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “They don’t have udders, Squirrel.”

“Then how the hell—”

“We’ll have to force a snake’s jaws over a cup and massage its head,” Sam broke in. “I’ve seen it done.”

Dean blinked at him. “Where, ‘hobbies for the wacky and insane’?”

He shrugged. “Snake milking is a legitimate enterprise.”

“Not where I’m from. Besides, Medusa—”

“Stheno,” Crowley corrected.

“Whatever. The bitch isn’t just going to let us walk up and start massaging her head.”

Sam frowned. “Will beheading kill her?” he asked Crowley.

“If you use an iron blade dipped in sea water from the Mediterranean.” He knocked back a swig from the beer bottle, which was getting low, and nodded to a machete lying in the corner. Okay, guess they could check that off their to-do list.

“Well, a snake’s venom is still potent for some time after death, so we gank her first.”

Dean just shook his head. “Okay, fine. So now all we need is to guarantee she doesn’t turn us to stone first. Unlike asshat over there, I don’t look good in granite.”

“Don’t forget it’s not just my life on the line here,” Crowley retorted.

Sam turned to face him, putting himself between the demon and his brother. “ _Did_ you come across a protection spell while you were ransacking the place?”

Crowley shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t recall.”

_Awesome_.

Sam looked at Dean, whose mouth had set in a thin line with that _‘what the hell do I do with this’_ expression he got when faced with mounds of research. Holding back a sigh, Sam strode to the nearest pile of abused books and picked one up.

One thing he had to give Magnus—the maniacal magician had been meticulously organized. His catalog of artifacts and lore were double and sometimes triple cross-referenced with related material. It was kind of obsessive compulsive. But it did make finding the protection spell easier. Or at least, which volume supposedly contained the spell.

“I have a footnote here that mentions wards, citing a text titled _Erosthenes’ Bibliotheca_ ,” Sam said, looking up from his book. “Come across that one?”

Dean turned over the tome he was reading to look at the front cover, then cast a half-lost look at the stack around him. “No…don’t think so.”

“Well, look for that. It probably has what we need.” Sam stood and walked to the bookshelf to skim the volumes Crowley hadn’t tossed on the floor, hoping it was shelved where it was supposed to be. He ran his hand along the hardback spines, pausing to tap empty space. Of course, because when were things ever that easy?

“Crowley, you want to get off your ass and help?” Dean growled.

The demon looked up from the recliner he was lounging in, the arm that was slowly petrifying braced on the armrest. Sam wondered if it was getting heavy…

Without bothering to deliver a snarky retort, Crowley stood up and lifted his drink. Only his elbow didn’t bend from the ninety-degree angle it’d been resting in, and the bottle ensconced in his hand remained a full foot away from his mouth. He stretched his head forward, craning his neck in an awkward position. When that didn’t work, he tried tilting his head and body back like he was doing the limbo, but the fountain of beer that poured out missed his mouth and splattered his shirt.

“Are you bloody kidding me?” Crowley’s voice raised in pitch and he slammed the bottle down on an end table. The bottom shattered, dripping the last of its contents on the carpet, and now the demon was stuck holding a half-broken bottle in his hand, his entire arm frozen in the position of a butler.

Dean snorted. “You’d make a nice coat rack.”

Crowley glared daggers at him before storming to a corner hutch and nearly wrenching one of the cherry doors off its hinges as he yanked it open. With his good hand, he pulled out a bottle of liquor, and used his teeth to tear the cork off, grimacing as he did so. Then he tossed his head back and gulped down several swigs.

Sam rolled his eyes. He would’ve thought the demon would put more effort into saving his own skin, rather than drinking away his woes. The sooner they found that text, the sooner the Winchesters could go after the gorgon and get Crowley his cure. Assuming Cas was able to find the gorgon.

A swish of wings rustled several pages of open books, sending a wave of relief through Sam. He’d secretly been worried about Cas flying off on his own, even though he recognized the necessity of it. But then Dean’s worried voice shattered his ease.

“Cas? What happened?”

Sam twisted around, stiffening at the sight of the angel blade in Castiel’s hand. He quickly did a visual once-over for blood or injuries. There didn’t appear to be any, but Cas’s arms were slightly extended as though to steady his balance.

The angel hesitated for only a brief moment before straightening. “The gorgon surprised me.” He slid his blade up his sleeve. “However, I did not attempt to kill her on my own.” There was a slight note in the way he said it that made Sam question the veracity of that statement. Jeez, had they been teaching the angel how to lie as well?

“So…” he said hesitantly. “You found her?”

Castiel nodded. “At an estate thirty miles from here. I don’t know how long she will remain there, though it is isolated enough to provide shelter at the moment.” He frowned as he glanced down at his shoulder, and his hand slowly reached up to rub it.

“Cas, you feeling okay?” Dean asked warily.

“I…” He pursed his lips. “Don’t think so.”

Sam dropped the book he’d been holding and strode forward. Without asking what was wrong—because it wasn’t like Cas ever told them the full truth when he was injured—Sam tugged the trench coat and suit jacket off the angel’s shoulder. He nearly popped the buttons off the shirt as he hastily undid the top ones. Pushing the clothing back to get a good look, Sam sucked in a breath.

A cluster of purplish-black veins were branching out from a single center where the bullet hole had been.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam gaped at the dark streaks blossoming on Castiel’s shoulder. “Shit.”

Dean strode over to them and let out a curse of his own. Cas just kept staring at the veins as though they were a fascinating anomaly, and not a sign that he was definitely poisoned.

Crowley made a noise of exasperation. “What, you thought I’d been bluffing?” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

Cas finally looked up to shoot the demon a dark glare. Crowley simply pulled down a glass from the hutch and poured some liquor into it. Then he nudged the crystal toward the angel.

“Have a drink, it helps.”

“Crowley, I swear to God,” Dean started.

The demon held up the bottle in a gesture to cut him off. “You signed the contract, mate, remember? Besides, the way I hear it, God is about as reliable as self-sealing envelopes.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “Do not think I won’t smite you, demon.”

“That would be sealing your fate, Kitten. Though I also hear you don’t have the juice anymore.”

The angel blade dropped from Cas’s sleeve again.

“Whoa,” Sam jumped in, putting a hand on Cas’s arm. “This is not helping. Crowley, shut up. Cas, we still have to stop the gorgon, one way or the other, and we haven’t found the protection spell yet. So are you up to helping?”

After a tense moment, Castiel returned his blade to wherever he kept it, and tore his gaze away from the demon.

“Of course I will help, Sam.”

Sam gave his arm a light, reassuring squeeze before letting go. “Okay. We know the spell is probably in a book called _Erosthenes’ Bibliotheca_ ; we just need to find it in this mess.” He gestured at the haphazardly placed texts.

Cas gave a slow nod. “Very well.”

Sam suppressed a sigh. Of course, Cas was only doing this to help _them_ , never mind helping himself. Dean and Crowley were still stuck in a glaring match, so Sam cleared his throat obtrusively, and they finally moved back to their separate corners. The silence was thick and palpable, broken only by the thunk of discarded books and slosh of bourbon.

“I found it,” Cas said a short while later.

Sam abandoned the stack he’d been sifting through and went over to take the three-inch tome from Cas. He immediately flipped to the page he’d memorized from the other text’s reference, heart dropping.

“It’s in Greek.”

“Please tell me you can read that,” Dean said to Cas.

The angel regarded him for a moment, taking in both Winchesters’ half-worried, half-hopeful expressions. “Yes.”

Relieved that something was finally going their way, Sam angled the page toward Castiel, who scanned the paragraphs.

“There is indeed a spell to protect against a gorgon’s visage,” he said. “The ingredients are odor of weasel, Monkshood flowers, sulfur powder, and sandalwood oil.”

“Odor of weasel?” Dean repeated, shaking his head. “Where do they come up with this shit?”

Sam shrugged one shoulder. “Well, I think I remember reading that the weasel is deadly to a basilisk, who also kills with a glare, so maybe they’re related…?”

“They are,” Cas said. “The basilisk is the offspring of a gorgon and the Midgard Serpent.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “What? Really? What else from Greek and Norse mythology is real?”

“Sam,” Dean half-growled.

_Right, focus._ He glanced back at the page, unable to understand the directions for how to cast the spell. “Okay, well, Magnus probably has this stuff somewhere…” Sam turned to Crowley expectantly.

With a put-out eye roll, the demon set his bourbon down long enough to snap his fingers. A small pile of mustard-colored powder appeared on the end table, along with several stems bearing a light purple flower whose wide petals curved over its center much like a monk’s habit, a bottle of oil, and a weasel’s pelt. Sam wrinkled his nose. It smelled fresh.

“Okay,” he said, trying not to cough. “What does the book say to do?”

Cas read over the page again. “Mix the ingredients and anoint one’s eyelids with the solution while saying the incantation.”

“We have to put that stuff on our face?” Dean said in disgust.

Sam gave him a sympathetic grimace. The life of hunters was never sanitary. But it was a small price to pay for saving people—and their friend.

Sam strode toward the hutch and dug around in the bottom cabinets until he found a bowl. Then he followed Castiel’s instructions as the angel translated the proportions for the ingredients: five strands of weasel hair, one Monkshood flower, and a pinch of sulfur powder mixed with one-fourth cup of pure sandalwood oil.

“What’s the sulfur powder used for?” Sam asked curiously.

“Counter magic and hex prevention,” Cas replied. He set the book down and picked up the bowl, turning to Sam. “Close your eyes.”

Swallowing his revulsion, Sam complied. Cas’s voice dropped an octave as he began speaking a litany of words Sam didn’t understand. A moment later he felt a finger rub over his eyelids, depositing a slick, cool substance. His shoulders tensed, waiting to feel a zap of magic or something. But nothing happened. The oil had either dried or absorbed completely into his skin by the time Cas stopped the incantation, and Sam warily opened his eyes. He found Dean blinking uncertainly and reaching up to rub his brow.

“Are we sure this is gonna work?”

“I performed the spell as described,” Cas responded. “It should.”

“Well, only one way to find out,” Sam said, turning to Crowley. “You have a jar or something we can collect the venom in?”

The demon snapped his fingers and one appeared. Sam scooped it up. “Okay, we’re halfway there. You know what to do with it once we get it, or are you gonna make us find a spell for that as well?” he said bitterly.

Crowley waved a dismissive hand. “No, that part I know.”

“Fine.” Sam looked to his brother, silently asking if he was ready to go. At a subtle nod, they both turned to Cas, prepared for the angel to fly them to the gorgon’s last known location, only to find the angel listing against the back of a chair, rubbing his shoulder. _Shit_.

Sam swallowed hard, pulse ratcheting up a notch. “Crowley, what symptoms can we expect Cas to experience?”

The demon shrugged his brows. “Fatigue will set in first, as you can see, followed by weakness, fever, delirium, and finally disintegration of internal organs.”

Sam felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. Crowley said the poison in Cas would work along a similar timeframe to the gorgon’s venom, which seemed to be gaining speed the more it traveled up the demon’s arm. This was bad, really bad.

Dean’s face started turning red and a vein in his neck seemed fit to burst. Sam watched his brother curl his fingers into a fist. With a subtle noise, he threw Dean a meaningful look.

_“You can’t kill him yet.”_

A muscle in Dean’s cheek twitched as he forced his hand to loosen. “Alright,” he said roughly. “Let’s go gank the bitch.” He looked at Sam, and the two came to a silent agreement.

Sam pulled out his cell phone and tapped the screen to pull up a map. “Cas, where exactly did you find the gorgon?”

Cas quirked a brow at the screen Sam held toward him. After a moment, he pointed to a spot on the grid, and Sam double-tapped it to get the information.

“It was the only human dwelling in the immediate area,” Cas said.

“Yeah, looks like,” Sam hummed. “Says here it’s part residential, part studio for a blind artist named Eunice Gladstone. Seems she’s pretty well-known in most of the state.”

“Blind, huh?” Dean asked. “Think that means she’s immune to the gorgon?”

Sam shrugged. “Makes sense. Though the gorgon could just kill her the old-fashioned way.” He winced at the callous reality of the situation. No matter how many lives they saved, Sam would always regret the ones he couldn’t.

Dean scooped up the machete and stuffed it in their weapons’ duffel, turning to address Crowley. “Magnus must’ve had a car around here?”

The crossroads demon made an exasperated noise. “All you boys do is take, take, take.”

“Your ass on the line, remember?” Dean retorted.

“It would be quicker if I transported you,” Cas spoke up.

Dean paused to glance at Sam again. “Yeah, about that…”

“It’s not that we don’t want your help, Cas,” Sam jumped in before his brother could be insensitive in his overprotectiveness. “But exerting yourself could accelerate the poison’s effects. Can you be sure you’ll be able to bring us back?”

Cas’s expression pinched in indignation, followed by a flicker of doubt as his gaze dropped briefly to his shoulder. He tilted his head and studied the Winchesters. “You do not wish me to come along at all.”

“Dean and I are warded, and the gorgon isn’t far.” Sam tried to convey his intent through his tone and eyes, hoping Cas would understand. “We’ll be back in a couple hours, tops.”

“Suppose she has fled,” Castiel argued.

“Then we’ll track her,” Dean put in. “It’s not me and Sam’s first rodeo, you know.”

Cas’s frown deepened in confusion and unhappiness. “I will not sit idly by while you two endanger yourselves.” _For me_ , was the unspoken tag to his vehemence.

“Please, Cas,” Sam pressed. _Of course we’d do it for you._

After a moment, the angel’s shoulders drooped. “I understand. I am a…liability in my current state.”

“No, you’re just too damn important to risk your life,” Dean half-growled. “Especially when you don’t have to. Sam and I got this. Just take it easy for once.”

Cas’s shoulders stiffened and he looked away from them. “Fine. I will make sure everything is ready to create an anti-venom for when you return.”

Sam sighed. Yeah, if he was in Cas’s position, he’d be pissed too. But the angel would at least have the chance to get over it, as long as Sam and Dean didn’t fail.

“Touching, truly,” Crowley’s accent shattered the tense silence.

Dean jabbed a finger at him. “And you’d better make sure Cas’s cure is ready too.”

The demon rolled his eyes. “I said I would. Chill, boys. Kitten and I will enjoy some pleasant bonding time while you two go off and slay the wicked witch.” He raised his liquor bottle in a mock toast.

“Car?” Dean demanded impatiently.

“Take the first left corridor, next right, and the garage is the fourth door on the right. Keys are there as well.”

Sam shook his head; they needed a damn map for this place. Gathering up their supplies and weapons, he cast one last apologetic look at Castiel before he and Dean headed for the door.

“Sam,” Cas said.

He turned, bracing himself for more argument, but Castiel merely materialized his angel blade and extended the hilt toward Sam.

“This will also work against the gorgon.”

For a moment, Sam stared at the heavenly weapon, stunned that Cas would trust him with it. At a nod from the angel, he wrapped his fingers around the cool metal.

“Thanks, Cas. We’ll be back soon.”

Castiel gave a barely perceptible nod, and Sam turned away from the look of resignation on his friend’s face.

He met Dean in the hall, and without another word they made their way to the garage. When they opened the door and flipped the light switch, both brothers stopped in their tracks, jaws dropping. The room was more like a hangar, with at least a dozen classic muscle cars filling the space, chrome polished to a shiny finish.

“No, no, no,” Dean said. “There’s no way a douche like Magnus could have had such great taste.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam spotted a rack of hooks on the wall bearing keys. He marched over and reached for the top set.

“Not that one.” Dean gestured sharply to the other end of the holder. “Third from the bottom right.”

“ _Seriously?_ ” Sam scowled. Now who was getting distracted? “We’re in a race to save Cas’s life and you’re going to be picky?”

“Hey, the Shelby’s going to get us there the fastest,” Dean replied.

Sam snatched the keys off the hook and tossed them to his drooling brother. There was a button next to the rack that looked like it controlled a garage door, so Sam punched it. Sure enough, at the far end of the room, corrugated metal siding started rolling up, revealing a stretch of field outside.

The brothers climbed into the sleek, silver, 1967 Shelby GT, and Dean was unable to keep the giddy look from his face as the car purred to life.

“Oh, yeah.” He tossed Sam a grin and revved the engine.

Sam smirked as Dean hit the gas and they tore out of there.

* * *

Dean slowed the GT Shelby to a stop in front of a large, one-story house with sage trim. Multiple wind chimes, from crystal to silver to gold dangled from the porch, silent in the absence of a breeze. There was a corral left of the house, but instead of horses, it held an assortment of sculptures. Some were full body statues plated in bronze; others were busts set on pedestals. There was a groom and bride in a lovers’ embrace, a young woman in an old-fashioned dress with a lace umbrella propped over one shoulder, and even a man in what appeared to be a Civil War era uniform stoically sitting atop a horse.

“Getting a sense of irony here?” Dean asked as he shut the engine off. Sam shrugged his brows, and the two climbed out of the car just as the front screen door creaked open. A woman in an ankle-length skirt and patterned blouse stepped onto the porch. She wore a scarf wrapped tightly around her head and large sunglasses. Were all artists New Age hippies?

“Hello?” she called, head tilted to the side, gaze angled upward as though she were surveying them through her ears rather than her eyes.

“Um, hello, Eunice Gladstone?” Sam replied.

“Yes. Who is it?”

Dean cleared his throat. “F.B.I. ma’am.”

Sam shot him a pointed look; they didn’t have their fake badges with them. Dean shrugged; it wasn’t like she could see them anyway.

“F.B.I.” she said in surprise, lifting a hand to press over her collarbone. “What brings you out here?”

“We’re looking for someone, a woman,” Sam said as they approached the porch. “She’s a witness in an important case, but she’s scared and went on the run. We really need to find her.”

Dean nodded at his brother appreciatively. _Nice BS-ing._

“Is that so,” Eunice said speculatively.

“Have you had any visitors?” Dean asked.

She pursed her lips for a long moment.

“It’s nice if you’re trying to help her,” Sam said gently.

Dean had to hold back a snort. If only this lady knew what she was dealing with, assuming the gorgon had even bothered to introduce herself. Why hadn’t she killed the artist anyway?

“But if she needs protection, that’s what we’re here for,” Sam finished.

_Yeah, protection for Cas._ And, to Dean’s irritation, Crowley.

“There was a woman,” Eunice said slowly. “She said she was passing through when she saw my art. We shared tea and muffins yesterday evening and then she left.”

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. Apparently the gorgon hadn’t left, not if Cas had tangled with her that morning.

“Mind if we have a look around anyway?” he asked.

Eunice frowned. “Very well. But don’t touch anything.”

“Absolutely,” Sam hurried to reassure her. “Thank you.”

He and Dean meandered back to the car while Eunice remained on the porch. Dean rolled his shoulders uncomfortably as he reached inside the Shelby for their weapons. It wasn’t like the woman could see them, but her standing there was still awkward. Dean pulled out the special machete while Sam drew Cas’s angel blade and pocketed the glass jar. Oh yeah, ‘milking a snake’ was going to be boatloads of fun.

Throwing one last look at Eunice, who still had her head cocked in that weird birdlike manner that reminded him of Cas, Dean turned and nodded to Sam. Together, they strode off to investigate the rest of the property. A barn stood thirty yards back, but closer to them was a large greenhouse with paned glass walls. Sam veered toward it, so Dean silently followed. As they approached the door, Dean spotted more sculptures inside. He was becoming quite impressed that a blind artist could capture such detail.

Wait…

Dean arched a questioning brow at Sam, who returned the look with a wary one of his own. Hefting their weapons, they pulled open the doors to the botanical garden.

Two statues stood on either side of the entrance like sentinels. Both were dressed in modern clothes; one even had reading glasses. Sam eyed them suspiciously. There was definitely an eerie realism to the granite figures.

“We should ask Eunice if anyone else lives or works here, and when the last time she saw them was,” Sam said under his breath.

Dean didn’t respond. He only hoped the gorgon was still around.

As they crept quietly through the garden, Dean started noticing more statues. They decorated patches of grass between trees and large bushes, some looking serene like timeless works of art. Yet others had slightly wider eyes, as though the models had caught a glimpse of something terrifying before their visage was permanently captured.

Dean’s heart began beating erratically with trepidation. He and Sam were putting a lot of faith—really all their faith—in that protection spell. Although, Dean had seen magic work before. Usually the bad kind. He kind of wished they’d let Cas come after all. Even weakened, the angel was badass backup.

Sam suddenly stopped and held up a fist. He jerked his head to the side, and Dean leaned out to peek around a large berry shrub. A figure in a long gown knelt on the ground by a fountain, arms resting on the rim as she gazed into the pool. Dean suppressed a shiver at the mass of tangled red snakes writhing about her head like some kind of freakish wig. He nodded to Sam, and they both moved forward, stepping lightly across the grass as they inched toward the gorgon.

They froze when she suddenly straightened and craned her neck to look over her shoulder. Red irises flashed with fury and she quickly rose to her feet. Dean waited for everything to go black, or whatever happens when you’re petrified, but he felt nothing. He shot his gaze to Sam, relieved to find him still flesh and blood. _Go weasels._

The gorgon looked them up and down, pausing to note the angel blade and then the machete. “You don’t look like angels…”

“That’s because we’re hunters,” Dean replied. He spotted a stump of white gauze, stained red, wrapped around one of the snake appendages on her head. Cas must’ve done that. Son-of-a-bitch had bent the truth when he’d said he hadn’t tried to kill her. Dean didn’t know whether to be pissed or slightly proud.

The gorgon frowned. “Then how…” Anger twisted her features. “That filthy demon,” she spat. “What did you pay for such secrets? Your souls? What kind of hunters does that make you?”

“We didn’t sell anything,” Dean snarled, and tightened his grip on the machete.

The woman sneered. “Well, warded or not, you’re still out of your league, boys.”

Dean grinned. “Let’s find out.”

“Let’s not.”

Dean stiffened at the sharp voice that sounded from behind him, and he threw a glance over his shoulder to find Eunice standing in the garden. _Dammit_.

He was about to ask her to go back outside when she casually lifted a hand and removed her tinted glasses. Sharp green eyes skewered Dean directly.

What the hell? She wasn’t actually blind?

He heard Sam give a small gasp, and a chill raced up Dean’s spine. If she wasn’t blind, why hadn’t she turned to stone in front of the gorgon?

“Stheno,” Eunice said icily. “For centuries you have been nothing but the bane of my existence. Trouble follows you everywhere.”

The gorgon snorted. “Get off your high horse, sister dear.”

Dean shot Sam a startled look. _Sister?_

Both Winchesters turned widened eyes to Eunice as she reached up to unwrap the scarf about her head. The fabric fell away, revealing a bald scalp covered in tightly coiled snakes. One by one they unfurled, green scales glittering like emeralds.

Oh, _shit_.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean whipped his gaze between Eunice and Stheno. There were _two_ gorgons?

“So you’re Medusa,” he said blithely, trying to cover his nerves. He and Sam were not prepared for this…

Eunice’s eyes narrowed. “Medusa was slain by Perseus. I’m Euryale.”

_Okay_. “You’d think either Crowley or Cas would’ve mentioned another one,” he grumbled.

Sam shot him a dirty look. Yeah, little good it did them now.

Eunice—Euryale—focused on her sister. “First angels and now hunters?” she said with barely contained ire. “I have lived in secret for the past several centuries and you’ve managed to ruin it all in one day!”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Stheno snapped back. “The angel was alone, and didn’t even stick around to finish the fight, nor has he brought reinforcements. And I will take care of the hunters. Go back to your tea and _artwork_.”

Euryale pulled her shoulders back and spat, “You are a plague. I should—”

“Should what?” Stheno interrupted. “Please, tell me dear sister, what do you want to do?” There was a hard, threatening glint in those red eyes that seemed to shut Euryale up.

Dean exchanged a bewildered look with Sam, and then subtly nodded. Time to take advantage of this sibling rivalry. Sam’s muscles tightened almost imperceptibly, but Dean caught it. With one glance, they knew how to communicate a plan.

Dean suddenly charged right toward Stheno while Sam lunged for Euryale. Dean swung the machete, but Stheno dodged and pivoted around. Her head of snakes hissed viciously. Dean slashed again, but the damn woman was lithe and agile, spinning away from him. She snatched up a garden rock and chucked it at his head. He ducked, hearing the loud thunk as it collided with a tree.

Gripping the machete with both hands, Dean attempted to take her head off with one clean stroke. Instead of retreating, however, Stheno shot her hands up and caught his arms, the blade inches from her neck. A snake lashed out toward his face and Dean instinctively jerked back, narrowly avoiding those fangs taking a chunk out of his cheek.

Stheno wrenched the machete from his hands and shoved her foot into his stomach. With an oomph, he fell backward, hitting the ground hard. The gorgon lifted the blade and sucked air through her teeth as though simply touching the thing burned. She tossed it aside, the machete skittering across the grass and under a bush. Then she marched forward.

“Dean!” Sam shouted.

He whipped his gaze around for a weapon, but there was nothing. Stheno bent down and grasped his shirt, lifting him up like a rag doll. Dean struggled, flinching away from the snakes spitting saliva at his face. Crap, did the spell protect against gorgon venom, or just their glare?

Stheno regarded him with disdain. “Shall we add you to the garden, or cut you up into tiny bits for my darlings to snack on?”

Dean grunted. “I’m pretty tasty, but not in that way.”

Sam suddenly hit the ground a few feet away, rolling over with a groan. The angel sword was nowhere to be seen. Euryale walked forward, glaring down at Sam with menace.

“What magic is this that they can resist our gaze?”

“Annoying, isn’t it?” Stheno hummed.

“We didn’t come alone,” Sam gasped as he caught his breath. “We’re working with the angels.”

Dean forced his expression to remain blank. Where was his brother going with that?

Stheno scoffed. “Angels and hunters working together? Doubtful.”

“We just want a sample of venom,” Sam continued. “Give us that and we’ll leave you alone.”

Stheno’s expression actually showed surprise, and she dropped Dean to the ground next to Sam.

“Why do you want that?” Euryale asked suspiciously.

“Does it matter?” Dean grunted. “If you don’t let us go with it, it’ll be angels knocking on your door next.”

“And you don’t want that kind of trouble,” Sam added, looking at Euryale.

The green-headed gorgon mashed her lips together. Perhaps she was actually considering it. After all, it seemed she preferred the quiet life, and her sister had swooped in and ruined it. Not that Dean and Sam wouldn’t come back to finish the job, but they had other priorities at the moment.

“They’re lying,” Stheno snapped. “Angels would not deign to work with measly hunters…nor help cure a demon.”

“No?” Dean said, and nodded toward the bandaged stump on her head. “An angel did that, right? Dark-haired guy in a trench coat?”

Stheno’s eyes flashed with recognition and fury, though she remained silent. Euryale’s gaze hardened, however, at catching her sister’s expression.

“I will not have you bringing angels down upon us, Stheno.”

Stheno hissed, her snakes snapping taut like splayed antlers. “Know your place, Euryale.”

Dean saw Euryale clench a fist, though she didn’t respond. If he could just goad the sisters into fighting and focusing on each other, maybe he and Sam could get the upper hand.

Stheno glanced back down at the Winchesters, cocking her head in contemplation. “Let the angel come for them.” A scheming grin tugged at her mouth, and she walked a few paces away to scoop up the angel blade. “I’m betting it was just the one, especially if they’re working with that demon. And I owe him for this.” Her hand reached up to gently touch the bandaged appendage. The snakes nearest the stump winced and recoiled as though in pain.

Dean and Sam exchanged alarmed looks. Crap, that was definitely not what they’d been going for. When they didn’t return, of course Cas would come looking for them. But he didn’t know about Euryale, and who knew how far the poison in his system had progressed.

Euryale shook her head in disgust, turning on her heel to storm away.

Stheno loomed over the Winchesters menacingly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to play with my food.” She began twirling a bronze finger, and the water in the fountain a few feet away started to slosh violently.

Dean’s eyes widened in horror as dozens of snakes suddenly spilled over the rim, cascading to the ground and making a beeline toward them. He attempted to scoot back, but they swept over him like a wave, coiling about his legs and slithering up his torso. A startled yelp tore from his throat.

Stheno cackled. “You may be immune to my venom, but how about a regular viper’s?”

“Dean!” Sam shouted as serpents writhed about him as well. “Don’t move!”

_Don’t move?_ he wanted to retort. He needed to get these friggin’ things off!

“He’s right,” Stheno crooned. “Maybe they’ll bite you; maybe they won’t. Though it won’t be much fun if you die too soon.”

Dean forced himself to go rigid under the squishy coils slowly curling around him. He shot his gaze to Sam, who was also doing his best to remain still. A muscle in his brother’s cheek twitching was the only sign that he was fighting the urge to freak out.

_Dammit, Cas, we’re in trouble here,_ Dean prayed, even though he knew the angel couldn’t hear him, not disconnected from Heaven’s call center. And while part of Dean hoped his best friend would come to their rescue, he also didn’t want Cas walking into a trap.

His gaze found Sam’s again, and knew he was thinking the same thing: they were so screwed.

* * *

Castiel sat ramrod straight in the desk chair on the opposite side of the room from Crowley, which was as far from the demon as he could get without simply leaving. He’d done what he said he would, and had readied the materials to make the anti-venom. They now sat organized on the table and only needed the final ingredient before mixing.

Crowley had offered little help with it, except to vaguely point out where the book detailing the recipe was and materialize the contents into the room. He’d barely moved from the recliner, other than to get a new bottle of brandy. He was currently nursing his third.

The demon’s condition had progressed to the point his entire arm, shoulder, and half his ribs had been petrified. Castiel felt no sympathy. It wasn’t that he was angry Crowley had shot him; Heaven and Hell were natural enemies. It was that he’d meant to do Sam harm, and was manipulating the Winchester brothers for his own personal ends.

Castiel’s gaze caught his reflection in the hutch’s glass cabinet, and he quickly looked away. The infected veins had spread, and were now peeking above his collar. They were grotesque, an outward symbol of the rot currently tearing him up from the inside. He hated to admit it, but Sam and Dean had been right not to take him on the hunt. A bone-deep weariness had gradually been seeping through him, and the ache in his shoulder had turned to a persistent burn until it felt as though the bullet were still lodged there.

Yet the longer the brothers were gone, the more worried Castiel became.

“Would you quit sitting there like a bloody statue?” Crowley spoke up. “I’m the one turning to stone.”

Castiel turned his head slightly to glare at the demon, yet didn’t deign to respond. It was almost three o’clock in the afternoon, six hours after Sam and Dean had left to hunt the gorgon. He rose to his feet swiftly, irritated that it made his head feel fuzzy.

“They’ve been gone too long.” He mentally chastised his weakness. If he’d been stronger, more able to resist the poison’s effects, Sam and Dean wouldn’t have felt the need to ‘bench him.’

Crowley sighed heavily. “I equipped them with everything they needed. How could they possibly screw it up?”

“I believe the human phrase goes something like, ‘if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.’”

“It’s also called delegating.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “They are probably in trouble.”

Crowley arched a brow, taking a prolonged moment to look Castiel up and down. “And what do you plan on doing about it?”

“Go after them, of course.” He took a deep breath, willing the pounding in his head to subside so he could think. Any number of things could have happened to them. The gorgon might not have been there, and they were currently trying to track her. And if she was managing to elude them, they would need Castiel’s help.

Or, an even worse, and far more likely possibility, was something had gone wrong. He swallowed around an uncomfortable lump in his throat. Suppose he’d made a mistake with the protection spell and the brothers had been turned to stone?

Castiel looked at the demon. “We should go now.”

Crowley scoffed. “Are you joking?” He stood with some effort and gestured helplessly to his frozen arm, which stuck out like a crooked tree branch. “How do you expect me to be of any use like this? Go rescue Tweedledee and Tweedledum yourself.”

“You got them into this mess; you will help get them out.”

“How do you intend on making me?”

Castiel drew his shoulders back, profoundly wishing he had the ability to smite. “If you want to ensure you get your venom sample for the antidote, you’ll come. Otherwise, I might…forget to bring it back.”

Crowley glowered threateningly, his stone arm shaking slightly as though he wanted to stab the broken bottle pieces into Castiel’s throat. “You signed the contract—”

“To not kill you. It did not say I was obligated to help you.”

“Then you’re killing yourself!”

Yes, Sam and Dean would be very cross with him for that. But seeing as they were not here and likely in grave danger, Castiel had to make a choice. And it was the one he’d always make.

Crowley gaped at him for those moments of silence. “You’d bloody do it too.” He shook his head with a scowl. “You have a sacrificial lamb complex as bad as the Winchesters.”

“So I’ve been told.” Castiel was done persuading; Sam and Dean needed help _now_. In a blink, he spread his wings and caught a current into the ether.

Flying almost did him in, and Castiel landed quite ungracefully, pitching forward to catch himself against a tree. His entire body, both vessel and wings, ached, but his shoulder throbbed the worst. He reached up to brace it as he fought to get his breathing under control. A chill ran through him, seeming at odds with the sweat beginning to bead his forehead.

He forced himself to straighten and look around. The farm was quiet, just as it had been that morning. A car that hadn’t been there earlier sat parked up near the house. Castiel didn’t know what vehicle Sam and Dean had borrowed from Magnus, but that could very well be it. And if it was, that meant the Winchesters were still here.

Castiel took a few unsteady steps before managing to regain his balance, and entered the barn to do a sweep. It was empty. He returned outside and eyed the greenhouse next. Amidst the various shades of green, Castiel could make out dull gray, stationary figures. With growing trepidation, he strode forward.

The two statues just inside the botanical garden gave Castiel pause. He felt certain they were petrified humans, and his worry for Sam and Dean increased. Surely if they were all right, there would be some kind of sound issuing from somewhere in the building, whether they were attempting to escape restraints, or Dean was recklessly goading his captors. But this silence…Castiel’s stomach began churning unpleasantly. For every statue he passed as he wove through the flora, he wondered if one of them would turn out to be Sam or Dean.

When he finally rounded a cluster of seven-foot shrubs and spotted the Winchesters, he was immensely relieved to see they were still flesh and blood. The feeling was short-lived, however, for the boys were propped up against a tree and completely ensnared in a morass of live snakes. Dozens had coiled about their legs, torsos, arms, neck, and even up around their mouths like some kind of pantomimic gag. Castiel could see the terror in their eyes as they fought to remain absolutely still underneath the weight of slithering bodies.

The greenhouse appeared empty except for the Winchesters and vipers, yet that didn’t mean the gorgon wasn’t nearby. Perhaps he should have paused to consider why she had left Sam and Dean alive, but Castiel’s only thought was freeing them before one of the snakes got feisty and bit them. He moved out into the open, and both boys’ eyes widened further when they spotted him. They started making muffled sounds, unable to speak around the serpents squeezing their jaws. Castiel extended his hand, intending to disperse the reptiles, when he noticed Sam and Dean flicking their gazes to something over his shoulder.

“Nice of you to finally join us.”

Castiel turned sharply, the movement sending a wave of dizziness through him. He blinked spots out of his vision to find Stheno standing several feet away. Her eyes brimmed with fury, and he almost missed the bandaged stump on her head, as most of the gauze had stained red to match the other snakes. His fingers twitched with the instinct to summon his angel blade, but he’d given it to Sam. The younger Winchester had obviously been divested of it though.

“I owe you for this,” Stheno said, remarkably calm as she gestured to her head. Castiel realized why when she withdrew the angel blade from behind her back. He stiffened.

“Oh yes,” she purred. “How about I cut off a few feathers from your wings? That seems fair, doesn’t it?” Stheno paused, eyes narrowing a fraction as she studied him. “What is this?”

Castiel gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder. He had no advantage over her, and in his weakened state was even more vulnerable. Yet if he didn’t find a way to defeat her, Sam and Dean would die.

A grin arched across the gorgon’s face. “Oh, this will be easier than I thought.” With that, she launched herself at him.

Castiel threw his arm up to parry the blow, blocking Stheno’s wrist with his own. The impact jarred painfully down to his wounded shoulder, but he ignored it. Grabbing her arm with his other hand, Castiel swung her around and into a tree. Her back made a loud crack as it collided with bark, but she managed to maintain a hold on the angel blade even as she hit the ground.

A burst of pain speared through Castiel’s shoulder, and he staggered back. _No, stay on your feet._

With a hiss, Stheno leaped up and swiped the sword at him. Castiel flung himself backward, but the tip still sliced across his chest. Searing fire lanced through him as the celestial alloy cut flesh into his true form. His momentum carried him back until he smacked against the ground, air expelling from his lungs. Black spots danced across his vision as he gasped to replace the precious oxygen. Stheno planted a foot on his sternum, making the task damn near possible. His chest burned from both within and without as blood and bluish light seeped from the jagged cut.

Stheno regarded him patiently, her foot still pressing against his ribs, like a fat cat toying with its prey. “I thought the hunters had come on behalf of a demon, but perhaps you were hoping a sample of my venom would cure your ailment?”

Castiel’s breath was coming more raggedly, so he didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. He caught sight of the Winchesters’ terrified gazes, and turned his head away in shame.

“You’re quite disappointing,” Stheno said, twirling the angel blade. “I heard angels were fierce warriors. Those two monkeys put up more of a fight than you.”

Castiel caught a metallic glint in his peripheral vision. Shifting his head a fraction, he spotted the machete lying under a bush less than two feet away.

Stheno dropped down to straddle his stomach, walking a finger up his chest. “It’s too bad you’re too far gone from whatever this is.” She paused to stroke his neck where he knew the poisoned veins were showing. “You would’ve made a prized statue.”

Castiel drew in a deep breath, fighting the dizziness and nausea as he reached for the machete’s hilt. In one swift movement, he swung up in an arc toward where Stheno had conveniently placed herself. The blade sliced cleanly through her neck before the gorgon could react, and her head of snakes flopped onto his chest before bouncing away.

“Not too far gone,” Castiel grunted as he shoved the corpse away and rolled over. Pulling himself to his feet, he snatched his angel blade from Stheno’s lifeless hand. Breath wheezed in his chest, and his knees felt as though they were liquefying, but he forced himself to stay upright.

Extending his hand toward Sam and Dean, he pushed a faint amount of angelic power into a mental command. _“Go.”_ To his immense relief, it didn’t take much to dispel the lowly creatures, and they slowly began unwinding themselves from the brothers.

As soon as the viper covering Dean’s mouth slithered away, the hunter shouted, “Cas, there’s another—”

Castiel didn’t hear the rest of Dean’s warning, for a hand grabbed the back of his neck, pinching painfully as it yanked him backward and down, and he found himself looking up into the eyes of several green snakes, all attached to a single head.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean willed the snakes crawling off his body to move faster, but at one seething glare from Euryale, the vipers twisted around and tightened their muscles around him again. A panicked look from Sam showed he was in the same position. They couldn’t move without the risk of being bitten, and the snakes were so damn heavy, an extra forty pounds in his lap and pressing against his chest. Dean had heard stories of giant anacondas crushing every bone in their prey before slurping it down. And if he didn’t play like a log, the vipers might realize he was food.

But Euryale currently had Cas by the neck and the angel wasn’t looking so hot. In fact, Dean’s heart had plummeted into his stomach when he saw how far the infected veins had spread up Cas’s neck. They were even wrapped around his left hand like he’d walked through evil Spider-Man’s web. And though Cas had managed to slay Stheno, it had obviously been by the skin of his teeth.

Euryale hissed at the angel she was holding in a vice-like grip before throwing him to the ground. Cas’s head cracked against the hard-packed soil, eliciting a moan. He shifted as though trying to roll over, but ended up barely moving. It took every fiber in Dean’s being not to push against the snakes and run to his friend’s defense. As though sensing his intent, they coiled about him tighter, squeezing his ribs painfully until he was forced to only take shallow breaths.

“You killed my sister,” Euryale said through clenched teeth.

“You hated her!” Dean called out. “She ruined your life, remember?”

Euryale whirled to face him. “She was still my _sister_!”

Dean winced. Okay, yeah, if anyone knew about the bond of family—despite how infuriating they could be—it was him.

“Look, you just wanted a quiet life, right?” he continued desperately, praying for Cas to get up. But the angel seemed too winded to try. Dean was finding it harder to breathe himself. “Your sister brought this upon herself; there’s no reason for you to get caught up in it too. Just let us go.”

Euryale shook her head. “No. I did not stand with Stheno when she tried and failed to avenge Medusa’s death. This time I will not dishonor my sister.” She spun back to Castiel, head of snakes spitting and snapping their jaws. “You will suffer for this, and then so will your human pets.”

Cas lifted his head, blinking much too rapidly, as though he were having trouble seeing. Euryale scooped up the machete he had used on Stheno, and marched forward, placing the tip under Castiel’s chin.

Dean’s blood ran cold. “Cas!”

Euryale raised the blade when Crowley suddenly blinked into the space beside her. One whole side of him was gray, down to his pant leg. He swung his granite arm, clubbing Euryale in the head. She lurched to the side with a cry. Crowley stumbled, one leg moving stiffly, and torqued his body back the other direction. His frozen arm bludgeoned her again on the other side of her face, this time sending her to the ground.

Dean could only gape as the crossroads demon clunked another step toward the gorgon. But Euryale had more mobility, and regained her footing in an instant. Her cheeks puffed as she stood poised in a half-crouch.

“So, Stheno did bite someone.” Euryale flicked her gaze to Cas, who had yet to move. “Angels and demons…” Her snakes hissed. “What is the world coming to?”

“Hell, darling,” Crowley said. “It’s going to Hell. Stheno didn’t see the wisdom in making friends, allies. But I’ve heard you’ve always been the more reasonable one.”

Dean’s jaw would’ve dropped if a snake wasn’t currently wrapping around his throat under his chin. What the hell was that son-of-a-bitch doing? He flicked a worried look at Sam. The vipers had slithered up his shoulders again, one draped across the top of his head.

“What do you say?” the crossroads demon continued. “A little venom sample for me, the opportunity to help lay the groundwork for a new kingdom for you.”

Euryale narrowed her eyes and sidestepped to stalk around him. With a grunt, Crowley attempted to shift his weight and keep her in sight.

Dean’s gut twisted. He had no doubt that Crowley would turn them over to Euryale if she agreed to give him the antidote herself. After all, their arrangement was _they_ retrieve the venom in exchange for Cas’s cure. And the non-aggression clause didn’t cover him turning a blind eye while the gorgon cut them to pieces.

“Crowley!” Dean growled, though his threat was meaningless.

The demon shot him a ‘shut up’ look.

Euryale moved like a lioness. “And the angel? I will not be denied vengeance.”

“That’s where things get a bit complicated…” Crowley said slowly.

Euryale didn’t wait for him to finish, but brandished the machete at him. Its blade clinked against his stone shoulder yet didn’t cut. The force, however, sent him tipping back to land on his petrified side with a resounding thud.

Euryale glowered down at him, chest heaving with fury. “Do you take me for a fool? _You_ sent the angel that killed my sister. I will have all your heads!”

Dean watched helplessly as their last hope of backup went down for the count. Then he caught a flash of tan and had to hold back a surprised gasp as Cas staggered to his feet. Euryale turned at the sound, just as Cas thrust his angel blade into her heart. A choked cry garbled in her throat. Castiel yanked the sword out and swung it back around. In a flash of silver, the head of green snakes went sailing through the air to splash in the fountain, and the rest of the body crumpled.

_Yes!_

Cas swayed a moment before looking toward Dean and Sam. “Be gone,” he thundered, the resonance of his voice vibrating in Dean’s ears. The snakes shivered and scattered, slipping away into the underbrush.

Dean scrabbled to his feet, shaking out his arms and legs. He’d never sat so damn still in his entire life. He nearly tripped rushing to Castiel, and gripped the angel’s arm, afraid that he would topple under the slightest puff of air. His heart rate spiked into overdrive when he felt the minute tremors running through Cas’s muscles. The angel was sweating and breathing heavily, and the dark veins stood out in stark contrast to his pasty complexion. Dean threw his brother a frantic look.

Sam immediately pulled the glass jar from his pocket and moved toward Stheno’s head, skirting around it cautiously as he approached.

“It’s dead, Sam.”

“Yeah, well, they can still bite.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dean growled. They needed to hurry up.

Sam shot him a black look. “The nerves are still active. How else did you think we were gonna get the venom?”

Dean swallowed. “Oh. Be careful then.”

Sam shook his head as he slowly knelt next to the limp mass of snakes. Grabbing one of the heads, he applied pressure in three places, and gingerly lifted it to place the fangs over the lip of the jar. Taking a deep breath, Sam began to squeeze. Spurts of viscous dark yellow, almost ocher liquid squirted into the jar.

Dean turned his attention back to Cas. “Thought you were gonna sit this one out?” he said gruffly, trying to mask his terror with snark. The laceration across the angel’s chest had stopped leaking grace and blood, but it hadn’t healed.

Castiel met his gaze. “Apparently…disobedience is…my trademark.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah. Thanks for the rescue.”

Cas simply nodded, as though speaking further was too difficult.

“Don’t mind me,” Crowley spoke up from the ground. “It’s not like I did anything.”

Dean scowled down at him. “This was all your fault to begin with.”

The demon rolled his eyes. “Are you just going to stand there all day or help me up?”

Stuffing down the urge to stomp on Crowley’s face with his boot, Dean bent down and gripped his arm. “Son-of-a-bitch!” he swore as his back twinged. He staggered upright and twisted until his back popped. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Crowley sighed. “I’m surrounded by morons.”

Sam strode over, the jar filled one-fourth of the way. “Here’s your venom sample. Now give us the cure for Cas.”

Crowley actually ducked his gaze, sending warning bells off in Dean’s head. “I can’t,” the demon muttered.

Sam’s brows shot up, face reddening with rage. “Simultaneous exchange, remember?”

“It’s in my bloody pocket, which if you haven’t noticed, is now stone! So unless you want to take a jackhammer to it and risk shattering your precious cure… That’s not an invitation, by the way.”

Dean clenched a fist. “You two-faced, son-of-a-bitch.”

“It’s not like I _planned_ for things to go this way,” he growled. “If you two dolts had just gotten the sample earlier—”

“How were we supposed to know there’d be _two_ gorgons?” Dean retorted.

“Crowley,” Sam broke in, seething. “We had a deal.”

“Yes, which I fully intend to keep my end of.” He rolled his eyes in chagrin. “You have to make the anti-venom first.”

Dean felt a cord inside him stretch so tautly it was on the verge of snapping. “Where’s the stuff?”

“At the mansion.”

Of course it was. Dean spun toward Cas. “Can you send us back there?”

Cas lifted his gaze, pain and exhaustion clouding his eyes. Dammit, Dean shouldn’t ask this of him. But they were running out of time. Even speeding, it’d take them over half an hour to drive both ways, not to mention he didn’t know how long it would take to actually mix the cure.

Cas seemed to read the depths of Dean’s desperation, because he nodded. “I can try.”

“Good enough.” He and Sam stepped shoulder to shoulder in front of the angel.

“You’re just going to leave me here?” Crowley sputtered.

“We’d need a forklift to get your sorry ass up,” Dean retorted angrily. Castiel could barely stay on his feet; no telling if he could actually fly. And if he could, which Dean was praying for, it’d be hard enough for him to carry the Winchesters, let alone a two-ton hunk of rock. Shit, Dean hoped Cas didn’t fly them into a wall. Or drop them. He pushed those thoughts aside.

“Just…sit tight. You know we’ll be back.” Dean paused to fix Crowley with a vengeful glare, voice dipping low. “And I swear to God, if Cas dies I’m coming back here with a sledgehammer.”

He didn’t get to hear whether the demon had a snippy reply, for in the next instant, Cas’s fingers had touched his forehead and he was swallowed up. The vortex was actually becoming familiar now, Dean thought ruefully. He wouldn’t be able to bitch about Angel Air from now on. As long as Cas pulled through.

When Dean touched down on solid ground, it was with a jarring force that threatened to implode his kneecaps. He pitched forward, but managed to shoot his arms out in time to catch himself. Shit, that was not normal. A quick glance up showed they were in Magnus’s parlor though. Sam was at his side, looking slightly woozy but otherwise intact.

Both brothers then turned their heads to find Cas lurching into a bookshelf. Several books crashed to the floor.

“Jeez, Cas!” Dean shot forward to catch the angel before he fell.

Sam swooped in to support Castiel’s other side. “Easy there.”

“Sorry,” Cas muttered. “What happened…to the floor?”

Dean and Sam exchanged panicked looks.

“You’re standing on it.” Dean felt his gut turn to lead—dammit, Cas was burning up. _No, no, not now. They were so close!_

“Oh,” Cas said blearily. “It doesn’t…feel like it.” His knees buckled, and he would’ve cracked his head on a shelf if the brothers hadn’t been holding onto him.

“Shit, Cas!” Sam looked around frantically, and nodded toward the back wall. “Dean, over there.”

Dean craned his neck and spotted a settee. Together, he and Sam half-dragged Cas over and laid him down on the small sofa. The angel’s eyelids fluttered as he struggled to focus.

Dean ran a hand down his face. “Dammit, how are we supposed to make Crowley’s antidote now?”

Cas’s hand twitched. “On…the table.”

Dean whipped his head around and spotted the stuff. “That everything?”

“Yes,” Cas rasped. “Mix…equal parts.”

“Okay.” Sam uncapped the jar of venom and poured some of it into a bowl. He then quickly added the other stuff and mixed it with a wooden spoon until the mixture changed color, going from ruddy yellow to pitch. “Shit, is that what it’s supposed to look like?”

Dean shrugged helplessly. “Cas, it turned black.”

“Like oil?”

“Yeah.”

Cas nodded faintly and closed his eyes. “It’s ready.”

Sam poured the syrupy substance into a vial sitting on the table, capped it, and thrust it toward Dean. “Get back to Crowley. I’ll stay with Cas.”

Dean spared a reluctant look at the dying angel before sprinting for the garage. He snatched the first set of keys from the rack, this time not caring what they belonged to. Slipping behind the wheel of a Dodge Charger, he prayed that son-of-a-bitch Crowley was still alive.

* * *

Sam knelt next to the settee and laid the back of his hand against Cas’s forehead. The angel’s skin was blistering to touch, but Cas was shivering uncontrollably now. And that sickly nexus of bruised veins had begun curling up around his jaw and temple, like barbed wire sinking its claws into the angel’s throat. Crowley’s stupid voice kept repeating in Sam’s head, _“disintegration of internal organs.”_ The infuriating accent was punctuated by an obnoxious ticking of a pendulum clock mounted on the wall above the sofa. Back and forth. Like the swing of a scythe.

Castiel’s eyelids fluttered open.

“Hey,” Sam said. “How are you holding up?”

“I am…” Castiel wheezed out a labored breath. “Holding.”

“Good,” he said, voice almost cracking. “Just keep it up. Dean will be back soon, you hear me?”

_Tick. Tock._

Cas’s brow furrowed slightly. “Dean Winchester…the Righteous Man.” He rolled his head to the side and moaned. “Must…save him.”

“You did Cas. You saved both of us, remember?”

Castiel’s eyes flew open, pupils blown wide. “The First Seal…”

Sam’s stomach clenched, and he lashed out to grasp Cas’s hand. “Cas, look at me. It’s Sam.”

“Sam?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, right here. And you’re not going anywhere either, understand?”

Cas frowned. “Where would I go? Heaven won’t…won’t take me back…”

Sam squeezed tighter. “Their loss. Your home’s with us now. So I need you to stay right here with me, okay?”

Cas gave a weak nod, gaze drifting up. The pendulum swung one way, then the other. Castiel’s unfocused eyes seemed to follow it, swaying back and forth until they flung out of orbit to rove across the ceiling, as though chasing some invisible winged phantoms. A look of profound sadness crossed Cas’s face, marked by interspersed flickers of fear. For all Sam knew, he was seeing angels.

“Hey, Cas.” He tugged his friend’s hand, drawing Cas’s attention away from his feverish delusions. Bloodshot eyes met Sam’s, but at least stayed trained on him. “What food do you want to try after this? Anything you want. Dean’s buying.”

Cas quirked a brow that was so blessedly _Cas_ in all his endearing confusion that Sam’s chest constricted and he gripped the angel’s hand so tight his own knuckles were whitening. Sam was _not_ losing another member of his family.

Cas’s lips moved, but the damn ticking clock drowned out his words.

Sam leaned closer. “I didn’t get that.”

Cas’s answer was barely a puff of breath on Sam’s cheek, but he smiled. “Absolutely, angel food cake. You’ll love it, Cas. It’s really good with strawberries too.”

“It’s not…pie.”

“Doesn’t matter. Dean can suck it up.”

Cas blinked at him, and a ghost of a smile graced his features. Cas hardly ever smiled. “ _Thank you._ ” And in those two words were everything—hope, family, belonging. Then with a swing of the pendulum, his eyes slipped closed.


	7. Chapter 7

There was something about racing the setting sun that felt ominous, like trying to outrun Death itself. And, since Death was an actual entity, the notion didn’t feel all that ridiculous to Dean. It only spurred his panic more.

_Hang on, Cas. Just hang on._

He finally pulled onto the single lane leading up to Eunice’s house. The corral of sculptures gleamed in the wash of golden rays spilling over the landscape, casting off blinding reflections that made Dean squint. Now that he knew who Eunice had truly been, he wondered how many of her “artworks” were victims.

Dean veered around the Shelby and tore through the lawn, right up to the greenhouse. He threw the car in park, but didn’t bother shutting off the engine before leaping out and bolting into the garden. The gorgon corpses were still there, lifeless and limp, but Dean skirted around Stheno’s head anyway, remembering what Sam had said about dead snakes still being capable of biting.

Crowley was where they’d left him, lying on his side. Nearly his entire body had petrified, including the stubble on his chin.

Dean dropped to his knees and uncapped the vial. Crowley’s eyes blinked open and bored into him. There was a weird mix of indignation and fear that freaked Dean out. Forcing the vial’s rim between Crowley’s stiffening lips, he tipped it upside down. The treacly liquid dribbled into his mouth, and thankfully didn’t spill out. Dean rocked back on his heels, never having wished so hard that some demon scum would get a miracle.

At first nothing seemed to happen, but then the skin of Crowley’s face lost its gray tinge as it softened back to normal pink. The collar of his suit went slack, and there was a creaking sound as his joints unlocked.

As soon as his front had un-petrified, Dean shoved his hands into the suit jacket and patted down the pockets.

“Easy Squirrel, buy me a drink first,” Crowley clipped, arms still too stony to do anything.

Dean’s fingers knocked against a glass vial, and he yanked out a container with a crystal skull top. A light blue elixir sloshed inside. He grabbed a fistful of Crowley’s shirt. “Is this the cure for Cas?”

Crowley let out a strained grunt. “ _Yes_.”

Dean shoved him away, and he rolled onto his side as the last of his limbs unfroze with creaky groans. His hand returned to normal last, stucco flesh smoothing out until all that was left were four half-healed puncture marks.

“Teleport us back,” Dean demanded.

Crowley shot him a baleful look from where he was huffing on the ground. “I need a minute to recover here.”

Dean grabbed him by the lapels again. “You can rest when you’re _dead_.”

Grumbling under his breath, Crowley reached up to grip Dean’s arm. He’d been expecting a similar whoosh of air like when Cas zapped them, but that was flying. He didn’t know how demons traveled, but in a split second, Dean felt like he’d been plunged into a sub-freezing lake.

* * *

Sam was holding onto Castiel’s hand so tightly, and was so focused on watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest, that when Dean and Crowley materialized in the room with a loud thud and slew of cursing, Sam nearly bashed his head into the pendulum clock leaping to his feet. Dean took a few unsteady steps before gaining his balance, whereas Crowley promptly fell unceremoniously on his ass in the middle of the room. After being petrified, his limbs seemed to flop like jello.

“Dean?” Hope felt like a briar bush clawing its way up inside Sam’s chest.

Dean gave himself a sharp shake. “Got it.” He held up a small bottle with an almost electric blue serum. “Is he?”

“Hanging on.” Sam stepped back so Dean could get close, and watched with baited breath as his brother cupped the back of Castiel’s neck and lifted his head to drink. Cas didn’t even twitch, but his throat moved as he swallowed reflexively.

“That’s it, Cas,” Dean said quietly, his soothing tone reminding Sam of when he’d been sick as a kid and his older brother had taken care of him. “All of it, there you go.”

Cas gave a weak cough as the last of the elixir went down. Dean stared at the veins for several long moments.

“Crowley, it’s not working!”

The crossroads demon rolled his eyes, still slumped on the floor. “Do you pop up like a daisy after taking a DayQuil?” He waved his arm, patting the furniture as he sought the liquor hutch, only to have his eyes roll back. Crowley pitched backward, out cold.

Dean looked ready to commit murder, so Sam put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s right, Dean. Let the medicine work. Cas will be fine.” He _had_ to be fine.

Dean glanced at the unconscious demon, then at Cas’s pale face. The tension loosed from his shoulders in an overwhelming wave of helplessness Sam recognized. “Yeah, alright,” he said, sounding defeated.

Standing up, Dean went for the hutch and pulled out Crowley’s liquor. Sam wasn’t surprised when he started knocking back the bottle himself. Keeping any comments to himself, Sam grabbed the recliner and pushed it closer to the settee, then sat down to watch over Cas.

\---

It took two hours, but finally Sam noticed the black veins had faded to a light purple. “Dean, it’s working!”

His brother’s head lolled up from where he’d ended up on the floor, propped against the hutch. “You sure?” he slurred, lurching to his feet.

Sam laid his hand over Cas’s forehead, hope soaring anew. “His fever’s broken too. Dean, he’s going to be okay.”

Dean stared down at their friend, blinking through his drunken haze. “Son-of-a-bitch.” With that, he chucked the brandy away and settled in for a vigil and sobering up.

Crowley was still out. Sam figured both the angel and demon needed time to recover from their ordeals. Now that he knew Cas was getting better, Sam turned toward the mounds of books in the parlor room and started going through them. He pulled out his phone, snapping shots of pages that looked interesting and emailing them to himself. Though his body ached and he was exhausted from the gorgon hunt, being up for over twenty-four hours, and the adrenaline of thinking his best friend was going to die, Sam didn’t stop. He was amazed how much information he was able to take photos of before Crowley finally began to stir.

The demon groaned and lifted his head. “You’re still here?” he said blearily. “What does this look like, The Four Seasons?”

“It might as well be until Cas wakes up,” Dean snapped from the recliner. “Unless you’re up to zapping us back to our motel in one piece.”

Crowley glanced at the angel sleeping on the settee. Other than being unconscious, Cas’s pallor and breathing had returned to normal over the past couple hours.

“Mhm, fine.” Looking around to get his bearings, Crowley turned toward the hutch, liquor shelves laid bare. “What the…” He whirled on the Winchesters, face turning slightly pink.

Dean shrugged. “Call it hazard pay.”

Crowley’s nostrils flared, and he raised a hand as though to fling Dean against the wall, then seemed to think better of it. Contract and all. He turned on his heel and stormed out, presumably to raid another cabinet.

Sam debated snapping more pictures of texts, but decided against it. He really wasn’t up to picking a fight should Crowley catch him. So Sam lumbered over to the back wall and slid down against it at the foot of the settee where he could watch Cas sleep.

“Is there any loophole in the contract that will let me gank his ass?” Dean asked after a moment.

Sam heaved a sigh. “No.”

Several more moments of silence passed before Dean spoke again, much more quietly, gaze on Castiel. “I don’t know if I’m ever gonna get used to this.”

Sam didn’t respond. Yeah, angels weren’t supposed to sleep. They weren’t supposed to be shot, or poisoned, or die from anything other than another angel. But since joining the Winchesters, it seemed Cas was doing that stuff a lot. Sam flashed back to that moment before Cas had lost consciousness, when his eyes had been bright and filled with gratitude. Why did Cas only seem to find peace when he was dying for them? Sam knew their angel’s greatest fear was being useless, so much so that he would rather sacrifice himself than admit weakness.

Sam looked down at his hands, hands that were covered in so much blood, both that of monsters and innocents. He glanced at Dean, his brother, who had survived Hell, and probably had just as much red on his hands too. Not that Sam despised or even blamed him for it. He loved his brother more than anything, no matter what.

But he had to wonder, as his gaze shifted back to Cas and then at his own hands again…who was really poisoning the angel?

* * *

Castiel felt heavy, like an amorphous shape bogged down in a mire. But that didn’t make sense; in his true form he was light and energy, able to float across the sky and ride currents through the air and ethereal plane. What was this unyielding prison?

_“Cas? Come on, buddy, wake up. You can do it.”_

He tried to turn toward the voice, so familiar yet far away. Pressure closed around his hand—wait, he had a hand? Of course, his vessel. And with that knowledge came sensation in arms and legs, sound and smell, the feeling of air on his face, and a hand wrapped securely in his. He forced his eyes to open.

Castiel didn’t know where he was or why he was lying on some sort of cramped bed, but he recognized immediately the two faces above him. Sam. Dean. _Home._

Sam smiled wide, while Dean’s relief remained more reserved.

“Hey, Cas. Welcome back,” the younger Winchester said.

Castiel blinked. “Where did I go?”

Dean shook his head then, mouth twitching. He let out a sigh, and Castiel felt the hand in his squeeze. “Doesn’t matter. You’re back now.”

Castiel couldn’t explain why he felt such joy and relief at that, at being with the Winchesters, but he gave a small smile. “Yes. Home,” he repeated aloud.

Dean grinned. “Damn straight. Can you sit up?”

It took a moment for Castiel to remember how to do that, which really should have worried him. Dean let go of his hand to grip his arm and help him into an upright position.

“You feel dizzy or anything?” Dean asked worriedly.

Castiel tilted his head. “I feel fine.” He glanced around the room they were in, noting the various old books and exquisite artifacts. Then he spotted the table with the remnants of sulfur powder and Monkshood flowers, and everything came back to him, like a fog lifting. Castiel glanced at his left hand to find the dark purple veins gone.

“I take it you were successful in reversing Crowley’s petrification.” He didn’t see the demon in the room, but Magnus’s mansion was a large place.

“Barely, but yeah.” Dean was eyeing him carefully, as though he expected Castiel to collapse any second.

“I’m fine, Dean. The cure, whatever it was, has worked.”

“Okay.” He didn’t look fully convinced, but finally stood up. “No flying yet though. We’ll take one of Magnus’s cars back to Utah.”

Castiel nodded. In truth, he was still feeling a little tired and sore.

“I’m gonna go find Crowley, tell him we’re through,” Dean said gruffly.

Castiel watched him leave the room, and then turned to look at Sam, who had fallen unusually quiet. “You seem unhappy, Sam.”

The younger Winchester jerked his head up. “What? No. I’m thrilled you’re alive.”

Castiel frowned. “Then why do you still feel guilty? Everything worked out in the end. In truth, I’m glad you weren’t the one who had to endure this. Likely it would have killed you much quicker.”

Sam ran both hands through his hair, heaving a heavy sigh. “I just…after this…” He looked away. “I wonder if you’d be better off having never met us. You’ve lost so much for us: Heaven, your powers…your family. We…” Sam’s voice choked. “We corrupted an _angel_.”

Castiel studied him for a long moment. “I’ve told you and Dean before, Sam, I don’t regret any of my decisions. Yes, I lost…everything.” The word sounded strange on his tongue, and he paused as he remembered saying that to Dean in Bobby’s hospital room shortly after Lucifer’s rising. Shortly after he’d been killed and mysteriously resurrected—though cut off from Heaven. At the time, he had felt so bereft and full of despair, but he’d been committed to seeing his choices through. Regret accomplished nothing.

Now though… Castiel drew his shoulders back. “But I gained much more, more than I ever could have expected. Or deserved. You and Dean didn’t corrupt me…you saved me.”

Sam simply stared at him. After a minute, he shook his head, a smile brightening his face.

Dean walked back in then. “Is the chick-flick moment over, or should I step outside again?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s over now. Jerk.”

“Bitch.” He nodded to Cas. “Time to go.”

Castiel stood, and Sam was right at his shoulder, prepped to catch him should his balance waver. It used to annoy him, this overprotectiveness that made him feel weak and useless. Now, however, he’d come to understand it as something born of love and devotion. He couldn’t begrudge that.

As the three of them walked out of the room, Castiel watched curiously as Sam surreptitiously passed Dean a gun mid-step. The elder Winchester didn’t even acknowledge the exchange as they met Crowley in the hall.

“You’re taking a third car?” the crossroads demon snipped. “What about the first two you left in the middle of nowhere?”

“We saved your life,” Sam said. “You really want to keep bitching?”

Crowley scowled.

Castiel saw Sam give his brother a subtle nod, and wished someday he’d be able to decode all the complicated messages they were able to pass between each other that way.

“One last thing,” Dean said. He raised the gun at Crowley and pulled the trigger.

The report echoed loudly in the narrow hall, and Crowley staggered back as the bullet ripped through his shoulder. He stared dumbly for a moment at the bleeding hole before his cheeks puffed with rage. “We had a deal!”

“Yeah, to not kill you. That was a _harmless_ lead bullet.”

“No breach of contract,” Sam put in.

Crowley gaped at them. “Then what the bloody hell—”

“That was for Cas,” Dean interrupted. “You come near my family again and you’re gonna wish I’d used the Colt.”

He and Sam marched down a side corridor, and it took Castiel a moment to realize he should follow. He and Crowley exchanged one last look, Heaven and Hell at a stalemate, before Cas strode away.

“I’m sending the dry-cleaning bill to you!” Crowley shouted after them.

They entered the garage, and Castiel noted how quickly Dean’s face switched from steely menace to delight. The ecstatic mien was such a rare occurrence in the midst of fighting the Apocalypse, that it made Castiel’s chest ache. Dean and Sam needed to smile more.

“Which one are we taking now?” Sam asked with a hint of teasing.

Dean grinned as he snatched a set of keys from a ring. “The Cherry Mustang.”

Sam nodded appreciatively.

Castiel didn’t understand the significance, but he didn’t have to. It was enough to see the Winchesters enjoying something. He followed them to a shiny red vehicle.

“You okay to drive?” Sam asked. “Because I wouldn’t mind…”

Dean snorted as he unlocked the door. “I got more sleep than you last night.”

“More like you were passed out drunk.”

“Four hours is four hours.”

Castiel climbed in the backseat. It wasn’t the Impala, didn’t have the same comfortable feel he’d grown accustomed to. But with the Winchesters sitting up front, it didn’t matter.

“Should we stop for breakfast?” Sam asked once they reached the highway.

“I’m good.”

Castiel’s brow pinched as he worked up the nerve to speak. “I think…I might be hungry.”

Dean whipped his head around. “Seriously?”

Cas rolled his shoulder self-consciously. It was another sign of how far he’d fallen, of how much he wasn’t an angel anymore. And while the thought still made him uncomfortable, it didn’t fill him with terror like it used to.

Sam shot Dean one of his ‘looks’ before smiling at Castiel. “Good, me too.” He turned to the older Winchester. “I promised Cas angel food cake and that you’re buying.”

Dean nodded along with the vibrations of the road before straightening. “Wait, what?”

Sam snickered and pulled out his phone. “I’ll find a place that serves it.”

“Cake for breakfast, Sammy?” Dean continued. “And you say _I’m_ a bad influence.”

Sam glanced over his shoulder, and for the first time, Castiel felt as though he understood all the unspoken words in that single gaze. _Maybe we are, but I’m glad you chose us anyway._

Castiel settled back against the leather seat, feeling a warmth inside his chest he hadn’t experienced since his grace had been in tune with Heaven. _So am I._

Sam grinned and turned back around. “You know what else we should do today?”

Dean rapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Hm?”

“Teach Cas to drive.”


End file.
